


Lay Your Weary Head to Rest

by singreader



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Character Death, Crime Fighting, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship/Love, Ghosts, Heartbreak, Heaven, Hell, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Jealousy, Lies, Loss, Major Character Injury, Major Original Character(s), Missions, Monsters, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology - Freeform, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Secrets, Sibling Rivalry, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:43:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 24,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singreader/pseuds/singreader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The brotherly bond he has always relied on is gone and Dean just wants to end it. But he has made so many mistakes, has so many sins to atone for; how can he make up for it? What can he possibly do that will free him from the guilt and allow him to die in peace? And what will Sam do, if he learns of Deans plans?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. warrior in training

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Supernatural or it's characters, I am just barrowing them for a while. My spin on a Supernatural story.

** Prologue **

 

Most children put a lot of effort into deciding what they would be when they grew up. They day-dreamed and fantasized, and role played; changing their mind a hundred and fifty times before they even entered high school. Not Dean though; he was but a child when he learned how his life was to be spent. He was only four when tragedy shattered through a calm Kansas night and forever made him a kissing-cousin to death. That night smoke rolled, windows exploded, and flames shrieked-shouted-roared. Along the block, lights appeared as neighbors tumbled from their beds and houses to gather and gawk.

Blazing tongues of heat slithered through the house, licking in and out of windows as deep red shadows spilled out into the night, gyrating obscenely on the lawn and sidewalk. It seemed as if hell itself had invaded their quiet suburb.

Amidst the inferno a door opened and a dark form raced out, flames biting at its heels. A small silhouette made its way through the smoke and chaos to the edge of the yard; it was Dean Winchester, John and Mary’s boy, and he wasn’t alone. The gasps and murmuring of the gathered crowd slowly died as the child stopped and turned. Silence muzzled the night as the young boy stood straight and expressionless, smoke-reddened eyes boring into the flames that were devouring his home.

Dean paid no attention to his neighbors, he simply stared at the red monster that had already killed his mother and probably his father too. It wasn’t the only monster that he had seen this night. The yellowed-eyed man that had pinned his mother to the ceiling and made her stomach bleed; Dean had seen him too. He was the truly evil thing; the fire was just a by-product of the demon, a farewell token if you would.

The flames ate voraciously at the house he had grown up in, destroying everything he had ever known and reducing his family to ashes. But not his entire family, not all of them. The young boy stood straighter as his arms tightened around the baby in his arms. Without taking his gaze from the hellish spectacle before him, dean placed a small kiss upon his brother’s forehead.

“It’s okay Sammy. I’ll protect you”

*          *          *

That promise grew to become both Dean’s damnation and his salvation. Although his father, John, didn’t die in the fire that night, he might as well have. The man that survived the blaze and swooped up Dean and Sam off the yard, the man that sat with them in his arms and watched as firefighters removed his wife’s body from the rubble; that man was not Dean’s father, at least not the father he had always known. Before that night his father had been funny and loving and patient; after that night he was hard in a way most people couldn’t imagine.

John became consumed with the need to Hunt; relentlessly tracking down and killing all things evil. However the more he learned, the more he killed, the more his fear for his children grew. He became obsessed with teaching his boys to protect themselves, teaching them to use guns, knives, spells, and exorcisms. He constantly trained them, drilled them, and tested them. The boys’ entire lives revolved around the need to be vigilant and ready to fight. School was a hit and miss; a few days here, a few weeks there. Home was an endless string of hotel rooms or nights spent camping in the car.

As the oldest, it was Dean’s responsibility to hold down the fort and look after Sam whenever his father was out hunting, which was all the time. Every time his dad would leave he would run through a checklist with Dean; lock all the doors and windows, stay out of sight, keep all guns loaded, and most important of all….watch out for Sammy. John was the most adamant about that; Sam was Dean’s responsibility, period. Dean had made a promise to his younger brother the night of the fire and he had better keep it. John used the reminder of that promise as a way to motivate Dean.

To keep Dean from failing in his duty to Sam, John would yell, mock, and berate him; Using Dean’s long ago promise to tear him down and shred his ego, until Dean had no sense of self-worth, no focus other that his brother.

He learned to cook so that Sammy could eat, to sew so Sammy could have jeans without holes in them, and to hustle pool, so Sammy could have medicine, books, and toys. He walked around with a pistol in his waistband, a knife in his boot, and holy water in his pocket. He showered with a gun on the sink, ate with a gun on the table, and slept with a pistol under his pillow and a shotgun next to the bed. By the time Dean was twelve he was a dutiful warrior; a highly trained soldier whose only mission in life was to protect his brother.

****

 


	2. Memories

 

**Chapter One**

* * *

 

 

**Elementary School:**

 

“Hurry up Sammy, you’re going to be late for school” Dean called out to the closed bathroom door as he finished tying his boots. The door flew open and Sam ran out, hair flying every direction and a spot of toothpaste on his chin. Dean shook his head as he watched his whirlwind of a brother race to the front door, shoelaces flopping off the carpet and jacket forgotten on the table.  
  
“I’m ready Dean. Let’s go” Dean tried not to laugh but it was hard, Sammy was just so dang cute.  
   
“Whoa, hold up dude” Sam obediently came to a stop, halting as if he had run into a wall, and looked at his brother with a single raised eyebrow.  
  
“Tie your shoes before you trip, put on your jacket - its cold outside, wipe the toothpaste off your chin, and don’t forget your backpack”  
  
Sammy grinned and raised a hand to swipe over his chin before dropping to tie his shoes. Dean grinned back and continued grilling his brother.  
  
“You have your homework in your bag?”  
  
“Yes Dean”

  
“You’re Lunch?’

  
“Yes Dean.”

  
“Got your knife?”

  
“Yes Dean.”

  
“Holy water?”

  
“Yes Dean."

  
“You going to pass you’re math test today?”

  
Dark brown hair whipped back and a set of sparkling eyes fastened on him

“You bet, I’m going to get an A!”

  
Dean laughed affectionately as he steered his brother out the door

“Well then, come on Einstein, get the lead out. Schools awaiting”

* * *

 

 

**Middle School:**

 

 

“Hurry up Sammy, you’re going to be late for school” Dean called out to the closed bedroom door as he slipped Sam’s lunch into his backpack. The door flew open and Sam tumbled out into the living room, hair flying in all directions, shirt on backwards, one sock falling off as he tried to stuff his feet in his shoes.

“I’m ready Dean, let’s go.”

“Whoa, hold up dude”

“What?” Sam muttered as he hopped around trying to get his shoe on.

Dean sighed and shook his head in exasperation

“Pull your socks up, then put your shoes on, it’ll work better. And turn your shirt the right way, backwards is not a fashion statement.”

Sam flashed him a mischievous grin and sat down to pull up his socks as his brother continued to grill him.

“Got your homework?”

“Yes Dean”

“You’re Lunch?’

“Yes Dean.”

“Got your knife?”

“Yes Dean.”

“Holy water?”

“Yes Dean.”

“You going to get the number of that cute chick in your math class today?”

Dark brown hair whipped back and a set of sparkling eyes fastened on him

“You bet I am. I’m going to take her to the dance on Friday.”

Dean laughed affectionately as he steered his brother out the door

“Well then, come on Romeo, get the lead out. Schools awaiting”

* * *

 

**High School:**

 

“Come on Dean, we’re going to be late to school” Sam called as he shoved his books into his bag.

The bathroom door opened and Dean stumbled out, eyes blurry and toothbrush clutched in his hand.

“All right, all right, calm down. I’m coming.” Placing the toothbrush back in the bathroom, Dean bent down to tie his boots.

“Hey Sammy, you got you’re…”

“Yes Dean, I have my homework, and my lunch, and my knife, and my holy water. I got everything, so let’s go already. I’ve got a test today and I don’t want to be late.”

Dark blonde hair lifted as a set of sardonic green eyes fastened on Sam’s face,

“All right Samantha, don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m ready.” Sam sighed in vexation and shook his head.

“Jerk.”

Dean flipped him a wink, “Bitch.”

With a shared smile, the brothers walked out the door,

“Come on Deana, schools a waiting.”


	3. A Rainy Good-bye

* * *

**Chapter 2**

 

Dean blinked his eyes rapidly, letting the memories fade from his mind. Those times had been so long ago, a lifetime ago. So much had happened since high school; Sammy’s dying and his resurrection, Dean’s demon deal and trip to hell, the rise and fall of Lucifer, the Leviathans, the fall of the Angels and the closing of Heaven’s gates. Dean shook his head sharply; God, their life sounded like a cross between a bad acid trip and a low-budget horror movie. But it wasn’t a bad trip or a cheap flick; it was his past, his present, and probably his future too, if he even had a future after tonight. Dean stood in the rain, head down, chin tilted, as he stared at the cement beneath his feet. The night was silent and still as the two men stared at his motionless form; Castiel with empathy and Sam with anger. They were waiting for his answer, Dean knew they were, but honest to God, he didn’t have the strength to speak yet. Inside, his soul was twisting and dying and the agony tearing through him literally took his breath. He needed a moment to gather himself, so they would just have to wait. This was it, the end of the road. This night, this moment in time; marked the end of everything Dean had ever cared about. He had lost his brother; Sammy hated him now, would never forgive him for what he had done, and really, that was alright, because Dean would never forgive himself either. He had screwed up, bad, and not even an Angel could fix it this time. Fiercely, Dean blinked away the tears that burned his eyes and prepared himself to face what he had done. Taking a deep breath he slowly lifted his head and focused on the man standing before him. Sammy wasn’t Sammy anymore, hadn’t been for a long time. He was Sam now, an adult who made his own decisions and right now his decision was that Dean should leave…

**_“Just go. I’m not going to stop you.”_** Sam’s face was aged and lined, and gray with weakness. He leaned slightly against the railing behind him, clearly needing the support to keep him upright. Dried blood streaked his face and the softly falling rain peppered his hair. Dean stared sadly at him, knowing it was for the last time.

This was it, the end of his mission; and he had failed. Choking down the pain that filled his chest, he gave a single short nod and backed up.

_**“Okay Sam.”** _

There was nothing more to say, so Dean did the only thing he could do; he turned and walked away.

For the first and last time in his life, he left his brother behind.

 

 

* * *

Sadness spiked through Castiel’s heart as he watched Dean walk away. He opened his mouth, ready to call him back, beg him not to go; they’d work it out…all of them…somehow…

If he would…please,

Just _stay_.

At the last possible moment Castiel snapped his lips closed, choking back his cry; now was not the time. Sam was hurt very bad and needed Castiel to heal him. As his friend slid into his car and drove off in the night, Castiel moved to stand in front of the younger brother, closing his eyes and moving his palm in a slow arc over Sam’s forehead. White light pulsed as cuts closed, skin knitted together, and deep puncture wounds filled in, smoothed out, and disappeared. Except for the streaks of dried blood flaking his ashen cheeks, Sam’s face showed no signs of the torture he had endured this night.

Moving his hand down, Castiel spread his palm over Sam’s belly, sending heat and light deep into the younger man’s internal organs; causing Sam to gasp harshly and clench his teeth against the wave of pain. At the harsh sound, Castiel’s eyes lifted and his head tilted as he studied the other man. Castiel wanted to yell at Sam, _scream_ at him; about how wrong he was being, how unfair and selfish and downright **_cruel._**

Dean was his friend. Castiel knew every sacrifice that man had ever made for his brother, every compromise, every deal. Being an Angel, he also knew exactly how much each one had cost Dean’s soul. How much the older brother had lost- the price that he had paid, was something that Sam just didn’t seem to get, and Castiel wanted so badly to tell Sam; to let him “see” what Castiel saw. But he didn’t.

Because Dean wouldn’t want Sam to know; and because Sam was hurt and needed time to heal. With a sigh, Castiel pulled Sam’s arm over his shoulder and, wrapping his arm around Sam’s waist he helped the younger man to his car. Castiel would take him back to the bunker and spend the next few days healing him because although he could be incredibly stupid at times, Sam was his friend, too.


	4. The drive

**Chapter 4**

 

Dean drove, the black impala cutting through the night, windshield wipers working furiously.

You failed, failed, failed….

The words echoed in his head; filling his ears and pounding his brain.

All his life he had only had one job, and he had failed….failed…

Images flashed in his eyes, childhood memories super-imposed over the inky black pavement before him.

Failed…Failed…He had failed so _**badly!** _

More memories came, hurling up from the blacktop, one after another, piling in on him…taunting him.

Swearing softly, Dean kept driving; the wheels of the impala picking up speed as they propelled him through the night, through his past:

* * *

 

 

**“ _Dean!”_**

_Before the cry had fully left the child’s lips Dean was there, gun in hand, planted firmly in front of the small figure huddled on the bed. His eyes were fierce, body alert, as he scanned the motel room, looking for whatever had dared to threaten his brother. Shadows were the only other occupant of the room, and Dean slowly let his shoulders relax. Lowering the gun to his side, he turned to the young boy hiding under the covers._

_“ **Sammy?”**_

_At the sound of the familiar voice, Sam threw off the blanket and stared at Dean._

_**“What’s wrong Sammy?”** _

_Dean’s voice was gentle and he felt the fear ebb from his bones._

_**“I had a bad dream. Monsters came, and Dad was gone, and then you were gone, and I was all alone.”** _

_Tears filled his eyes and his shoulders started to shake. Dean put the gun on the nightstand and lifted his brother from the bed. Placing him across his lap, he wrapped his arms around Sammy, and rocked him gently, feeling the shudders that wracked his small body. God, his brother was so young, only five; too young to worry about being left alone. Anger at his father and what his absences were dong to his brother filled Dean; no child should fear being abandoned._

_“ **It’s okay Sammy, I got you.”** _

_Sam sniffed and snugged deeper into the thin arms wrapped around him_

_**“I’m scared Dean. I don’t want to be all alone.”** _

_Dean pulled back and looked directly into his brothers eyes_

_“ **You’ll never be alone Sammy. As long as I am around, nothing bad will ever happen to you. I promise.”** _

_Sam looked into the eyes of his hero as sadness filled his chest."_

_“ **Dean, you can’t promise me that.”** _

_**“Yeah? Why not Sammy?”** _

_Sam shook his head sadly_

_“ **Because you’re just a kid too dean. You can’t control everything.”** _

_Dean shifted his hold, placing his hand beneath Sammy’s chin and lifting until they were eye to eye. Fierce determination carving his nine year old face, Dean stared straight into his brothers’ eyes and spoke with deadly promise…_

**_“Yes, Sammy, I can.”_ **

 

* * *

 

Rain pelted the glass as the impala picked up even more speed. Dean’s hands clenched the steering wheel as his long ago promise echoed in his ears.

He had failed….failed!

Faster and faster the wheels turned; faster and faster the memories came…

**_“Dean”_ **

_The cry had barely left the young boys throat before Dean was there; flipping on the light, quickly kneeling down to where Sam had clearly fallen off the bed. Laying his pistol aside, Dean slung an arm around his shoulders, lifting him slightly as he ran a gentle hand through Sam’s sweat soaked hair._

_**“Sammy, what happened? What’s wrong?”** _

_Although the room was spinning sickeningly and his throat felt like it was on fire, Sam felt his body relax at Dean’s touch._

_**“I don’t feel so good Dean”** _

_Sammy’s voice was frighteningly weak and his face was too pale; Dean felt real fear shiver through his spine and he tightened his arms around the boy._

_**“It’s okay Sammy, I’m here.”** _

_Sliding his arm under his knees, he shifted his brothers’ weight closer and stood up. Walking to the bathroom he was careful not to bump Sammy’s head into anything; at ten, Sammy was all long legs and gangly arms. Shifting and turning, he fit Sam safely through the narrow door before lowering him to sit on the toilet. Sammy looked even sicker under the bright fluorescent light and Dean’s stomach clenched hard; he wished his dad were here._

_Keeping up a steady stream of conversation Dean grabbed the thermometer and placed it under Sammy’s tongue;_

_“ **It’s okay Sammy, probably just the chili dog you ate for dinner, ya know? You always say that I’m a bad cook.”**_

_He flashes a quick grin down at his brother and keeps on talking, trying to sooth the younger boy;_

_**“Or maybe it was that girl you kissed at recess today. I told ya you’d get cooties!”** _

_Sam didn’t even crack a smile and sweat suddenly coated Dean’s back. Taking a breath, he swiped the thermometer from Sammy’s mouth and held it up to the light to see;_

_Shit! 103.6, shit, shit, **shit!**   Throwing the thermometer down Dean raced to fill the tub, checking the temperature twice before turning to strip his brother down to his boxers. Swallowing hard, he lifted his brother into his arms and stepped into the rapidly filling tub, the water almost cold against his ankles as it seeped through his pajamas. It was going to feel like ice against his brothers skin. Whispering a quick   **“I’m sorry Sammy”**   Dean tucked him close and sat down in the tub. Sammy screamed hoarsely when the water hit his bare skin; arms and legs thrashing weakly as he tried to get away. Ignoring the tears that filled his eyes at the pitiful sounds his brother was making, Dean held him tighter and talked gently to him; keeping him in the water. _

_**“It’s okay Sammy, shhh; it’s going to be okay. We just have to get your fever down alright? It’s only for a minute, shhh, its okay Sammy, its okay”** _

_On and on he talked until Sammy stilled in his arms and quit fighting. Dean sat there holding him, ignoring his own shivers, until the heat left Sammy’s body. Standing up, he lifted his brother out of the tub and wrapped him in a towel then carried him back into the bedroom. Still in soaking wet pajama bottoms, Dean got Sammy dressed in dry boxers and a fresh t-shirt and tucked him into bed. Taking only a minute to strip and change into dry pants himself, he came back and sat next to his brother, pulling the covers up to Sammy’s chin and brushing the damp hair back from his now cool forehead._

_**“Dean?”** _

_The voice was soft with sleep_

_“ **Yeah Sammy?”**_

_Dean’s voice was just as quiet._

_**“Thank you Dean. I knew you’d make me better”** _

_A small smile graced his mouth, before he yawned loudly and snuggled deeper into the blankets. Dean swallowed the lump that suddenly filled his throat and whispered unsteadily;_

“It’s okay Sammy. I told you, as long as I am around; nothing bad is ever going to happen to you.” 

_One eye cracked open to stare at him_

_**“I told you Dean, you can’t promise me that.”** _

_The eye closed and with the next breath, the young man was asleep._

_Dean’s voice broke the silence; low and rough and filled with resolve;_

_**“And I told you, yes I can Sammy.”** _

* * *

 

 

 Dean’s breath whooshed out on a desperate gasp…the memories were fucking tearing him apart. Agony clawed at his chest until he thought for sure he would just blow apart-

simply explode into a fiery ball of pain; painting the seats and dash with glops of worthless guts and flesh.  He gripped the steering wheel tighter, pressing the accelerator harder and harder as air tore in and out of his lungs, filling the car with harsh chunks of sound…

Faster…he had to go faster…had to get away from the memories eating him alive…

_  
_

 

_Sam’s eyes intense in his eight year old face_

_**“You’re my hero dean.”** _

_Tears streaking his eleven year old cheeks_

_**“I’m glad you’re here Dean.”** _

_A laugh light as sunshine spilling from his fifteen year old lips,_

_**“Dude, calm down; airplanes are safer than cars.”** _

 

His chest muscles convulsed and bile burned the back of his throat…ah God, make it stop!  Please…make it stop!

Failed…he had failed so bad!

 

_Tears filling his puppy dog eyes,_

_**“What if I can’t be saved Dean?”** _

_Misery pressing down on Sam’s shoulders,_

_**“You have to let me grow up Dean.”** _

_Sadness painting Sam’s face,_

_**“Because…you’re still my big brother Dean.”** _

 

Hyperventilating from the pain crushing him, Dean was blind to the night, blind to the rain, and the road; until suddenly the road wasn’t there anymore. He was thrown forward as the tires left the pavement to bounce over grass and rocks. Slamming his foot onto the brake while pulling sharply on the wheel, he just managed to avoid plowing head first into the massive tree that loomed in front of him. With a squeal of metal grinding on metal, the impala spun in a complete circle, throwing geysers of dirt and gravel into the air before coming to stop. Reaching out with shaking hands he turned off the car. Silence closed around him for a moment.

Then… through the dark… a thought whispered in his ear…wrapped around his brain…

Failed….you failed.

**You. Failed. Your. Brother.**

Unable to take it anymore, he scrunched his eyes closed and bowed his head over the steering wheel. The rain stopped and the night was cold and still; the silence fragmented by the keening cries of a broken man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So tell me what you all think? Still going okay?


	5. Painful Recollections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: So this is where I have decided to veer away from the television script and kind of do my own thing with 
> 
> season nine. So advanced warning: Castiel does not suffer from having a different angels’ grace, Sam and Dean do not go 
> 
> out hunting together again, and Dean does not get the mark of Cain. All future chapters are rated M for language, violence, 
> 
> graphic images, and sexual situations. Last, but not least, I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters, those rights 
> 
> belong to Eric Kripke and others. I am just borrowing them for a little bit to write a story for entertainment and not for 
> 
> profit. So, that being said…hope you enjoy. Remember to please review or comment…I can’t get better if you don’t. Also, if 
> 
> anyone wants to be a beta or a reviewer for me, someone I can bounce ideas off of – let me know.

 

**Chapter 5**

* * *

 

**“Wait!”**

Sam’s breathe hitches sharply as he tries to bite back a hiss of pain.

**“Wait Castiel”**

Blue eyes gaze at him quizzically before the angel slowly lowers his hand; the pulsing white light dims and fades, then disappears.

 **“Just give me a minute, okay?”** Sam’s voice is hoarse with the effort to speak.

With a silent nod, Castiel steps back and takes a seat on the chair next to the bed, dropping his gaze to the floor as he settles in to wait patiently. Sam is grateful for the reprieve. He knows the light, Cas’ “Grace”, is necessary to heal him, but damn does it hurt! Desperate for a distraction from the fire throbbing through his body, he shifts his focus to the wall of his room. After a moment the bland gray of the stone gets to him and he turns his head, slowly moving his eyes. A small frown settles between his eyebrows; damn his room was ugly! Well, not so much ugly as blank. There was nothing on the walls, nothing on the desk. Turning even more he surveyed everything; there was…..there was…well… nothing...nothing except a bed with a dull colored blanket and a single straight backed chair. What the hell? Even the cheesiest, rundown motels had at least one cheap ass picture on the wall. But he didn’t, why hadn’t he noticed that before now? With a pang, he remembered a few months back; Dean asking him why he didn’t decorate his room and offering to buy him a. Hello Kitty welcome mat (the dick). Closing his eyes briefly, Sam also remembers his response…

 

**_“Why would I do that?”_ **

_Dean’s face had screwed up in confusion…_

**_“Because most people decorate their home, duh!”_ **

_Sam had rounded on him in anger,_

_“ **This isn’t a home Dean! It’s a fucking bunker full of books and supernatural bullshit, built by a bunch of long dead librarians!”**_

_He could still see the look of anger that had come over his brothers’ face, the way his jaw clenched as he responded,_

_“ **They were NOT librarians douche bag!”** _

_Sam had just shaken his head at his brother in disbelief,_

_“ **Whatever Dean. Call them what you want, it doesn’t change anything. They’re still dead and this is still just a bunker, not a home.”** _

_Dean had just shaken it off, and given him a smile._

_“ **Well, it’s the closest thing we’ve got to one double-dork, so just go with it and put up some damn Barbie posters or something will you?”**_

_Dean’s laugh had filled the empty space of Sam’s room with warmth. Laughter was still bubbling in Dean’s throat when Sam’s words cut through the air,_

**_“I don’t have a home Dean. I’ve never had one…and I probably never will.”_ **

 

Sam remembered the change that had come over his brother that night; remembered the bright green eyes that had dimmed to dullness as the smile melted away to nothing – he feared that it had also been the end of something more, something worse. As Sam’s words faded into silence, Dean had just stood there, his face a blank mask and shoulders hunched as if under a great weight. Just stood there looking at Sam, and somehow that look had been worse than anything he could have said; because for the first time in Sam’s life,his brother had gazed at him in complete and utter defeat.

Tears burned as Sam blinked his eyes, forcing away the memory. God, how could he have done that? Been so mean?

Just because it was true didn't mean he had had to say it. He knew how his brother felt, how much Dean hated the years of endless hotel rooms and cheap dives, the hundreds of nights spent sleeping in the car. Blowing out a sharp breath, Sam stared at the wall…sometimes he could be a real asshole.

A small cough from across the room brought his attention back to the here and now, and he shifted his look to Castiel. The angel still sat quietly in the chair, staring at Sam.

 **"Uh, sorry Cas, was just thinking about stuff. I'm ready when you are."** And he shifted once again to the edge of the bed.

Cas didn’t move, just tilted his head to the side in curiosity,

 **“What were you thinking about, Sam?”**   Castiel hoped it was about Dean.

**“Uh – nothing, nothing important. Look, let’s just get this done if you don’t mind. I’m pretty tired and could really use a shower.”**

**“Are you sure it is nothing important?”**

Sam opened his mouth, paused, then closed it and just shook his head. **“Yeah, I’m sure.”**

With a small nod Castiel stands in front of him and raises his hand to heal. Sam’s harsh breathing and strangled groans are the only sounds as intense white light once again fills the room.

* * *

 

 

Barely paying attention to the heat radiating out of his palm, he thinks about what Sam had said _…“nothing important”._   Castiel knows that was a lie, Sam had been thinking about his brother. Dean was many things but unimportant wasn’t one of them. As his hands grew hotter and hotter, he thought back over all the years he had known the Winchesters; all the obstacles and trials the two men had overcome. Whether Sam wanted to admit it or not, he needed his brother. And his brother needed him. Each was the only one that could save theother.

* * *

 

Bracing his arms on the cool tiles of the shower stall, Sam let the hot water cascade over him. The heat slowly penetrated his skin, loosening muscles and allowing him to sigh in relief; damn he hurt! His body throbbed like an entire major league team had used him for batting practice and his knees were shakier than a toddlers taking his first steps. Cas had said that he would need at least three more sessions before he was completely healed and he so wasn’t looking forward to those. That light fucking hurt!

**“Quit being a bitch and suck it up.”**

 

Head whipping up, he looked around wildly; his brothers voice had seemed so real. The room was empty though.

 

Of course Dean wasn't there

 

Sam had sent him away.


	6. Going out and Staying in

 

 

The razor glided over his neck, past the jugular and up the sensitive skin under his chin. Music blared, the beat of guitars and drums writhing and throbbing until the steamy air surrounding him seemed to have a pulse of its own. Hands moved, the sharp blade keeping time with the rhythm of AC/DC’s Back in Black.

_**Well I’m back...yes I’m back…** _

Hands steady on a smooth upward stroke,

_**Well I’m ba a a a ckkk….baa aa aa ck…** _

Strong fingers deftly move the blade,

_**Yesssss I’m back in black!** _

Intense green eyes inspected the finished product, sweeping over every millimeter of skin, making sure nothing was missed.

With a satisfied grunt, Dean laid down the razor and used a towel to wipe the excess shaving cream off his face and neck. It had been a while since he had put this much effort into shaving, but tonight was special and he wanted to look his best. Had to look his best.

Tonight he was going to get laid. As many times as he could, by as many women as possible.

Stepping back from the sink, Dean dropped the towel from around his waist and inspected his naked body in the full length mirror on the wall. His shoulders were broad but not too bony, sloping gracefully down to his long arms. His biceps were well defined; heavy with muscle and lightly veined, his forearms corded and strong. His chest was sharply contoured; his pectorals chiseled with muscle, his nipples small and dark. His abdomen was flat and hard; his dick thick and long with a wide head. Turning slightly, he continued his inspection. His legs were long and rock hard; slightly bowed but women didn’t seem to mind that. His ass was compact and smooth, tanned and curved and tight enough to bounce a quarter off of. With a small smirk, he turned away from the mirror; yeah, he was definitely getting laid tonight. Walking back into the main area of the small hotel room he grabbed the shopping bags off the end of the bed and pulled out his recent purchases. The dark blue jeans hugged his ass like a lover. Over a soft black t-shirt he layered a dark green button up that made the green of his eyes seem even more intense. Threading his leather belt through the loops at his waist, his palm brushed over the fly of his jeans and a small shiver raced up his spine. Since waking up in the car this morning (with eyes swollen from crying and a headache from sleeping hunched over the steering wheel) and coming to a decision about his future; his body had been in a constant state of low-level arousal. Looking down at his dick he gave it a small smile; “soon buddy, be patient just a little bit longer.”

Flipping off the stereo, he laced up his boots and shrugged into his jacket. Stuffing his wallet in his pocket, he grabbed his keys, and walked out the door.

Sliding into the impala he glanced at the empty seat beside him and felt a hollow pain shoot through his stomach. He could almost see his brother sitting there, giving him bitch face number three over his plans for the night, a lecture about safe sex and STD’s ready to spill out and bore him to death. God it hurt! Sammy was supposed to be here, supposed to be sitting right there being all uptight and annoying. He wanted his brother to lecture him, to annoy him and piss him off, he wanted it so bad!

**“Yeah well, you don’t always get what you want, so suck it up and deal with it.”**

Saying the words out loud helped him get a grip. Clenching his fingers on the steering wheel he tore his gaze away from the seat that would never again be occupied by his brother.

Time to stop living in the past and get on with it. He had made his decision already; he had given himself one week. One week to enjoy everything and do all the shit he wanted to do.

One week before he started his mission; the mission that when complete would make up for some of his endless mistakes, wash some of the stains from his nearly black soul, and hopefully let him die without the load of guilt that tried to drown him every day.

Seven days, that was all he had…one week.

So why was he wasting it, sitting in a parking lot acting like a girl, crying over shit he couldn’t have. Jesus, he was an idiot! Shaking his head, he shut the door and turned the key. As the motor roared to life beneath him he gave himself a wink in the rearview mirror and pulled out of the motel parking lot. Turning left he headed towards town, on a hunt for the most extreme clubs the city had to offer. Rolling down the window, he pushed in the Led Zeppelin tape and cranked the volume.

Sitting back he felt the tension ease from his body as the wind whipped through his hair and the music thrummed through his veins. Giving a sigh of contentment he pressed down harder on the accelerator, picking up speed.

He was ready for some action.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**The Bunker:**

 

**“Here Sam, eat these.”**

Castiel slid a plate bearing two sandwiches onto the table, scooting it until it rested just next to the edge of the book that Sam was reading.

**“Sure Cas, in a minute.”**

He replied without lifting his eyes. Unaware of the frown that marred his forehead or the pallor of his face, he scanned the pages in growing frustration; damn it, where was it?

**“What are you looking for?”**

After a solid minute with no answer, Castiel tried again,

“ **Do you want help finding something?”**

Still no answer. With a sigh, he gave up and pulled out a chair across from the silent reader. Sitting quietly, Castiel took the opportunity to study the man opposite him. Although it was hard to tell for sure with that book hiding half of his face, Castiel thought that Sam looked better than he had yesterday. Although he was still quite pale, the brackets of pain had disappeared and the sickly sheen of green was gone from his skin. Moving his gaze down, his eyes landed on long fingers wrapped around hard binding and Castiel remembered the first time he had met Sam…

 

_There was no hesitation in the man as he stepped forward and held out his hand in greeting. Castiel stared at that hand in consternation; he did not want to take it, did not want to touch any part of the man tainted with demon blood. He drew up his shoulders, ready to step away from the abomination before him, when he happened to look upon the man’s face. Never had he seen such longing; the man’s eyes were straightforward and clear- there was no evil in them. Castiel took a step closer and looked harder, looked all the way to the soul. In that moment, he saw the struggle within the young man…the overwhelming desire to do good and the constant battle to ignore the darkness that pulled from within. In that moment Castiel was humbled by the strength of will the young man possessed; it is never easy to turn away from evil once it has claimed you for its own. Castiel stared into the mans eyes as he reached out and took the offered hand, shaking it once before placing his free hand over the top of their clasped fingers._

_“ **It is nice to meet you Sam”**_

 

 

That had been years ago, and as Castiel continued to study the man sitting before him he thought over all the choices Sam had made in those years; all the times he had run away, turned his back on those who needed him. The deal with Ruby, the drinking of demon blood, setting Lucifer free. So many mistakes Sam had made, so much pain he had caused.

Staring at the head bent in concentration, Castiel also thought of the other choices Sam had made in those years; trying to trade his soul for his brother, throwing himself into the pit to trap Lucifer, taking on the physical agony of the trials to try and close the gates of hell. So many sacrifices Sam had made, so many lives he had saved.

Castiel thought about it all and nodded his head to himself in satisfaction; shaking that hand had been a very good decision.

 

Smiling slightly he tapped his fingers on the table,

**“Sam, hey…”**

Hazel eyes looked up in question.

**“Eat. You need to keep your strength up.”**

He nudged the plate closer.

Peering over his book, Sam stared at the food in puzzlement, before flushing in embarrassment. Flashing a small smile, he shrugged and put his book aside.

**“Sorry Cas, guess I wasn’t paying attention”**

Sliding the plate in front of him he picked up the first sandwich and took a bite.

**“It is a good thing that my vessel is not female then or I believe that would have hurt my feelings.”**

Sam choked, slapping a hand over his mouth so as not to cough food onto the table.

**“Wow Cas, really?”** when he could talk again, **“Where did that come from?”**

**“I believe that it is acknowledged that human females suffer from excess emotions and are prone to anger when they feel they are being ignored.”**

 

Sam huffed out a laugh and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms and staring sternly at the Angel across from him.

 

**“Oh really…and where exactly did you learn that Cas?”** it was hard to keep his face straight with the laughter tearing at his throat, but Sam managed it. Barely.

 

**“From watching your soap opera’s”**  

 

**“They are shows Cas, not soap operas!”** came the huffy reply, complete with bitch face number five. Castiel laughed.

**“Whatever you say Sam”**

After a moment of silence and another pissy look, Sam picked up his sandwich and resumed eating. Chewing thoughtfully, he suddenly swallowed at gave him a look of pure glee.

Castiel did not trust that look,

**“What?”**   he asked cautiously.

**“You’re talking about soap operas and you cooked me dinner”**

He raised a single eyebrow in question, not liking where this was going,

**“and?”**

 

**“Dude…you’re a girl!”**

Castiel’s smile died.

 

**“Shut up Sam.”**

 

Sam gave him a wink and took another bite.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question for all: do we want any Destiel in this story? Write and tell me what your preference is for Dean and Castiel…just friends? Unacknowledged attraction or love? Full blown Destiel?  
> It is all up to you guys so let me know please.  
> The majority vote decides how this story goes.  
> Also, if there are any characters anybody is wanting to see just let me know. Thanks.


	7. Drinking and Dancing

Music pounded and lights flashed as bodies withered and gyrated. The air was heavy with sweat and lust and Dean took a deep breath, inhaling the steamy aroma as his eyes scanned the dance floor. He could feel the bass vibrating his body; sinking through muscle and sinew until the beat coursed through his veins and pulsed in his very bones. The rhythm was hard and dirty; the rhythm of sex, and he knew it well. Leaning back against the bar he took a drink of his beer and continued to search the menu of flesh before him. The crowd shifted slightly and there she was; his first partner of the evening. Long legs that curved down into three inch heels and a round ass barely covered by a black skirt; Deans dick was suddenly, fiercely, awake and begging for attention. Attention it was going to get.

Locking eyes with the lithe blonde, he set his beer down on the counter behind him and started forward. Ignoring the man plastered to her back, her eyes traced down Deans body and back up, before once again meeting his stare. A slow smile graced her full lips as she sent him a wink.

Coming to a stop in front of her he returned the favor; running his gaze down her body like a caress before bringing his attention back to her face. His eyes were savage, glittering with heat, giving her the hottest eye fuck she had ever seen.

Dean saw the shiver that wracked her body and his arousal spiked; sweat sheening his back as his balls grew heavy and tight. Saying nothing he reached out and wrapped his hands around her hips; without even a glance at the guy, he pulled her away from her partner and drew her forward into his body. He waited a moment to see if she would protest his actions. When she didn’t say a word, he turned her around and brought her closer. Bending slightly he slid his arms around her waist and slowly moved his hips; pressing her close and starting to grind against her in time to the music. Without hesitation she followed his movements, ass pressed tight to his errection, shoulders swaying and rubbing against his chest.

Dean smiled and pulled her closer.  
 

* * *

 

Closing the book in frustration, Sam threw it on the table and leaned back in his chair. It was the silence; the bunker was too damn quiet and he just couldn’t concentrate. Castiel had vanished hours ago, saying something about needing to “check on things” before disappearing in a rustle of feathers. He knew what “things” the angel was talking about; Cas had gone to check on Dean. It had only been a day but apparently that was too long for the holy tax accountant to go without his seeing his best buddy. Considering the “profound bond” the two shared, Sam was surprised he hadn’t vanished sooner. Whatever, it’s not like he gave a shit one way or another. Let them have their bond, he didn’t need the angel or his brother. He was a big boy; doing just fine on his own.

If only it wasn’t so quiet here.

Jumping up from the chair he made his way into the kitchen for a soda. Opening the fridge he looked inside; there on the top shelf were six dark brown bottles of beer. He froze…

“ ** _Making a beer run Sammy, want anything?”_**

Six round bottles, lined up all nice and neat.

“ ** _You going to the store Sammy? Don’t forget the beer…and bring me some pie!”_**

He looked but there was no pie. He must have forgotten it.

Somehow, the inanimate tubes of glass looked lonely; abandoned.

With a harsh curse he slammed the fridge and went in search of the whiskey. Fucking cheap assed beer tasted like shit anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

Shirt plastered to his chest, sweat dropping down his back, Dean tightened his grip and rolled his hips harder. The dancer in front of him groaned deeply and returned the pressure. Without missing a beat, he slid his palm from her hip, up across her belly, and cupped her breast. Bowing his back, he brought his mouth to her ear and bit gently. Shudders coursed through her body and Dean had had enough. Spinning her around he grabbed her hand and hauled her off the dance floor, heading straight for the bathrooms. She followed without a word. Entering the ladies room, he checked the stalls to make sure they were empty, then slammed the door and twisted the lock. Turning to the girl he let his eyes slowly trace her body; high, round breasts heaving with every breath, curved thighs trembling with arousal, and dainty fingers moving up her belly to unbutton her blouse. With a growl he reached out and took over the job, quickly ridding her of both shirt and bra. He didn’t take the time to get rid of the skirt, just pushed it aside as he lifted her and pinned her against the door. Leaning forward, he held her in place with the weight of his chest as he reached down to open his zipper.

 _Goddamnshitfuck_ , he fumbled with the stubborn denim; he was so hard his dick probably had the imprint of his entire zipper. The button finally popped free and metal teeth opened and lowered. His cock sprang free and with a grunt of relief he shifted his hold on the girl. Hoisting her higher, he lined himself up with her entrance and slowly brought her down, impaling her on his rigid flesh. A breathy moan escaped her throat at the feel of him inside her. Gripping her thighs, he wrapped her legs tighter around his waist and started to move.

 

It was fast and brutal, and so damn hot he thought he would burn alive. Her hard nipples scored his chest as he thrust into her over and over; ruthlessly driving toward completion. The room filled with the stark sound of flesh slapping against flesh as he pounded into her wet softness, and Dean groaned in ecstasy. Sweat rolled down his spine as the heat gathered, pooling in his belly. Two more rough thrusts and the girl exploded, inner muscles contracting, clenching hard around his dick, and that was it for him. Dropping his head back, he pushed deeper as his release boiled up and out; nerves screaming as his cock jerked, flooding her with semen.

After a moment, his body relaxed and he leaned back, disengaging from the girl and letting her slide down until her feet touched the door. When she was steady enough, he stepped back, tucking himself back into his jeans and zipping up.

 

 ** _“You okay?”_**   his voice seemed overly loud in the small room.

 

 ** _“Mmmm”_** giving him a satisfied smile she grabbed some paper towels from the holder and went to the sink. He watched silently as she cleaned herself up and lowered her skirt back into place before unlocking the door and swinging it open.

 

 ** _“Hey”_**    She turned back to him, raising a brow in question, and he felt like an idiot.

 

 ** _“Um…I never got your name”_** and damn if that wasn’t one of the weirdest things he had ever said.

After a beat of silence a genuine grin slid across her face and she sent him a playful wink,

 

 ** _“Thanks for the dance cowboy.”_    **And she was gone, door closing softly behind her.

He smiled to himself, this night was looking better and better. After washing his face, he shook his head and headed back out to the bar…

And to think, he used to hate dancing.

________________________________________

Tilting his head back to empty the glass, Sam let the warm liquid slide down his throat, moaning in satisfaction at the smooth burn. God whiskey taste so good! Humming softly, he lifted the bottle to refill his glass; staring stupidly when nothing came out.

Empty? When the fuck did that happen? Lifting his bleary eyes, he gazed around suspiciously,

Who the fuck drank all my whiskey? but the room was empty. Whatever, there was another bottle on the cabinet. Instead of making his way over there, he leaned back in his chair and let his head fall to his chest. What the hell was he doing? He had started drinking the whiskey because he had felt like shit and had thought it would help. Now the whiskey was gone, he felt like even bigger shit, and he really, really had to pee. He stood up abruptly,

 _Fuckingshitfuck!_   The room was spinning like a damn merry-go-round and the bathroom door had somehow moved to **_fucking Pluto_**!

He dropped back down onto the chair and lowered his head into his hands, maybe he didn’t have to pee after all. He gave it a minute, but nope, he really did, so he heaved a sigh and stood back up. Or tried to anyway. Somehow the floor was stretched out on him, and the cool tile really did feel pretty good against his cheek. He’d go the bathroom in a second; but first he’d wait here for a moment. Just for a moment.

His eyes closed as his body relaxed and his mind drifted fuzzily,

_Wonder what Dean is doing…._

A small chuckle reverberated off the floor,

_Probably sitting in some shitty hotel room getting drunk._

The laughter died in his throat, he really did miss his brother.

 _When Dean comes back to apologize and beg my forgiveness, maybe I should listen_.

Dean probably missed him too.

 _Maybe I should forgive him_.

Sam sniffed and rubbed his cheek into the floor; _hmmm_ , it was so soft!

A second later loud snores split the silence of the bunker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: still taking votes for Destiel or no Destiel, so let me know please. Hope you enjoy this chapter, drop me a line and tell me what you think please.


	8. Past and Present

**Chapter 9**

* * *

 

 Dean awoke slowly; enjoying the softness of the mattress beneath him. Letting his arms slide over the cool sheets he stretched languidly; _damn his body was sore!_ Thinking of the blonde from the night before he grinned; he had definitely overworked a few muscles last night. Last night…that meant that this was day two. Only five more days left. Suddenly energized, he rolled out of bed and hurried to the shower. He had places to go and things to do. Water beat down on his back, the heat sinking deep and loosening muscles. The shampoo had been expensive but it produced a thick lather as he scrubbed it through his hair. What the hell, it wasn’t like he needed to save for the future or anything; he didn't have one. Closing his eyes he rinsed the suds away, shut off the water and reached for the towel. He didn’t take as much time getting dressed as he did last night, he didn’t have anyone to impress; today was all about him. His body was relaxed, his dick was sated, and he had a list; a bucket list of sorts. He laughed ruefully, who woulda thought he’d ever have one of those?

Sitting at the small table by the window, he took a moment to stare out at the nearly empty hotel parking lot at his baby; sitting alone it was a square of black beauty gleaming brightly in a sea of dull grey concrete. Giving his faithful lady a quick smile, he turned his attention back to the task at hand. Unfolding the single sheet of notebook paper, he

smoothed it out across the flat table top and read the list again.

 

 

1) Get laid. A LOT!

2) Burger joint in Pontiac.

3) Mountain to watch stars

4) Write letters to Castiel and Sam.

5) Go home.

 

Reaching out, he picked up the pen and slowly, carefully drew a single line through the first item. Shoving the paper back into his pocket, he dropped the room key on the desk for the maid to find, shouldered his bag and headed out. One down, four to go.

 

* * *

 

 

His head hurt….his bed was too hard….and he was cold! Ignoring the nausea that filled his stomach and the drummer that was trying to break out of his skull, Sam forced his eyes open. What the…jerking his head up, he froze, eyes closing at the vise of pain that gripped him. _Ow shit shit…okay, moving = bad idea._ Swallowing the vomit that suddenly burned his throat, he kept himself perfectly still as he once again opened his eyes. He was on the floor, in the bunker. _All right…so he knew where he was_ (bunker) _and what he was doing (lying on the floor) … _so far so good, everything was okay.__

 _Wait, WTF????_ _Why was he lying on the floor?_

Moving his eyes around the room, he spotted the empty whiskey bottle on the floor.

_Oh yeah._

Rolling slightly he forced himself into a sitting position, groaning at the agony that came with movement, why had he drank so much? Taking several deep breathes he finally managed to get to his feet without puking and started shuffling towards the bathroom.

It felt like it was the first time he had peed in a week and was he immeasurably grateful he hadn’t ended up pissing his pants last night, Dean would’ve never let him live that down.

_Dean wasn’t here._

He swallowed at the thought and viciously turned on the cold water tap, ignoring the stab in his chest; he didn’t care damn it, he didn’t!

He groaned in pleasure as the cool water splashed over his face, washing away sweat and grit and probably dried drool too.

_Dean always said he was a sloppy drunk._

Turning off the water, he slammed his mind closed on thoughts of his brother and grabbed a towel to dry off; he moved too fast. Spinning around, he dropped to his knees just in time, holding on tightly to the edge of the toilet as what felt like the entire bottle of whiskey and half of his stomach lining came spewing out of his mouth. Throat burning, eyes watering he finally quit heaving and shakily reached out to flush the toilet. Leaning his forehead head against the cold porcelain, he closed his eyes.

Hangovers were such a bitch!

 

* * *

 

 

Wind rushed in the open window, warm as it fanned over his face and through his hair. Eyes squinted slightly against the sun, Dean sprawled back in the driver’s seat, body lose and relaxed as the impala ate up the miles. He had been driving for hours, crossing freeways and highways beneath a heaven of cloudless blue, and Pontiac was somewhere up ahead. Warmth spread through his soul and he tipped his head back, laughing out loud; God it was a great day to be alive!

 _Hey wait, weren’t those the words to some song or_ _shit?_

His brow furrowed in concentration before abruptly clearing; oh yeah, it was some caterwauling country song Sammy had fallen in love with a couple years back. He remembered

now….

 

_He was going to die and not by some rabid werewolf or blood sucking vetala either; he wasn’t that lucky. No Dean’s death was going to come from his own hands, because he swore to God, if Sammy played that song one more time, he was going to stop the car, pull the keys from the ignition, and use them to stab himself to death! He was a strong man, but a person can only take so much torture. His head throbbed as Sammy threw back his head and sang along with the song playing, yet again, on his I-pod;_

_“ **And it’s a great day to be alive, I know the suns still shining when I close my eyes!”** _

_Dean clenched his jaw…his jackass of a brother sang like shit…he also sang loud._

_“ **There’s some hard times in the neighborhood, but why can’t everyday be just this good”**_

_The fucking song lied, it was not a good day! If only Sam would SHUT UP_ _! Please, please let him shut up! But no, Sammy just sat there in the passenger seat, big shit eating grin plastered on his face, and took a deep breath, ready to belt out another verse. Dean swerved off the road and slammed on his brakes._

_**“Dean? What’s wro…”** _

_Sammy’s voice died as Dean slowly turned and gave him the death glare._

**_“Listen Willie Nelson, if you play that song one more time, not only will I put Nair in your shampoo again, but I will also program your computer to play Britney Spears every time_ ** you log on, got it?”

 _Sam swallowed and shut off his I-pod before giving Dean his bitch face. Without a word, he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, pouting. After a moment of blessed silence, he steered the car back onto the road and resumed the long drive. Now it was a good day_!

 

The warmth slowly drained from his chest at the memory; the day was beautiful but quiet. What a difference time makes. He would give just about anything to have Sammy here right now, riding beside him, singing in his extremely loud and off-key voice. Smiling and singing along to his obnoxious fucking music. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and stared out the windshield.

All joy in the drive had vanished; it was too quiet.

 

* * *

 

 

The four aspirin he swallowed didn’t work, the dry toast he forced himself to eat didn’t work, and the bag of frozen tater-tots he plastered to his face didn’t work. Sam’s head still throbbed viciously, only now the pain was accompanied by a queasy stomach and constant shivers. Moaning quietly, he curled up on his bed in misery. He could feel the light from the lamp burning into his closed lids…

_why hadn’t he turned it off? Oh yeah…because the switch was by the door and the door was like five miles away!_

He reached out blindly, sighing with relief when he found his pillow and laid it over his head; _ahhh, blessed darkness!_ He couldn’t sleep through the pain; even his eyelashes hurt, but when he stayed really still the nausea didn’t choke him; he stayed still. After a while the pain lessened and he felt his mind start to drift….the last time his head had hurt this bad was back in ninth grade when the senior quarterback had thought that pushing Sam down the stairs was hilarious; he had not been laughing the next day. A smile curled Sam’s lips as he remembered…

 

 

_**“Where is he?”** _

_Even through the closed door Sam could hear the anger in his brother’s voice and the tension eased out of his body at the sound; everything would be okay now, Dean was here. A second later the door crashed open as his brother stormed onto the room, all but mowing down the poor secretary trying to stop him._

_**“Hey, you can’t go in there…”** her eyes widened comically when Dean spun around and slammed the door in her face, leaving the non-pulsed nurse speechless._

_**“Hey Dean”** he greeted tiredly, staying laid down on the nurses table; he hurt too bad to sit up._

_Dean didn’t say a word, just stood there staring, taking in the bruises and lacerations that marked his face and bare chest. The air thickened, became ice cold and heavy, as rage swelled up through his brothers body and crashed out of his eyes; drowning the small room in a tidal wave of silent fury._

_**“Who did it?”** _

_Even Dean’s voice was angry; the tone low and deadly, sending a shiver through the quiet nurse. Sam closed his eyes and sighed_

_**“It doesn’t matter man, its over. I just want to go home”** a sharp stab of pain shot through his side when he tried to sit up and Dean was there in an instant; sliding an arm around his shoulders and lifting him into a sitting position. The ride had been a nightmare, every tiny bump in the road causing fresh spikes of pain and Dean trying hard not to hurt him; he drove so slowly the old woman whose head was barely taller than the steering wheel flipped him the bird as she was passing them. By the time they got back to the hotel Sam was ready to strangle him. After his brother wrapped up his ribs he was parked on the bed and watched like a hawk. For the next three days all meals were brought to him, the remote_

_was placed in his hand, and his books were set within reach on the nightstand; he was allowed to pee on his own though and Sam was eternally grateful for that privilege. When Dean was in protective mode he wasn’t exactly rational. By the fourth day he had finally convinced his brother to let him return to school; he should have known it wouldn’t be that easy._

_Not only did Dean pay some chick to carry his backpack for him until his ribs healed; he paid an annoying chick. Some girl named Becky who couldn’t seem to quit touching him. She had a mouth full of braces, a squeaky voice, and she never shut up. He was a little afraid of her and tried to hide, but she was like a freaking blood hound, every time he turned around she was there-running her creepy hands up his chest or over his arms. By the time lunch rolled around, he was thoroughly sick to his stomach and wanted nothing more than to go home and shower in bleach. Creepy stalker-girl in tow, he headed to the cafeteria, visions of murder strong in his mind. Entering the large room his eyes instantly found his brother; Dean had his arm slung around the shoulder of a certain senior quarterback, the two looking like the best of friends as they walked to the exit. Oh shit…this was so not good! Breaking away from the hands that were busy feeling him up, he ran to the exit; bursting outside in time to see the pair disappearing around the corner, heading towards the parking lot. He caught up with them as they came to a halt beside the impala. Taking in the hardness of his brothers’ jaw and the paleness of the football player’s face, he stayed silent; watching as Dean finally let go of the pressure point in the kids shoulder so he could unlock and open the car doors. The day was warm, clear, and a light sheen of sweat coated his face as he slid into the back seat and closed the door. The bully’s breathing was harsh, then harsher when Dean got in to the driver’s seat; the small space filled with the acrid sound of his fear. Sam almost felt sorry for the kid. Saying nothing, he watched as his brother reached back and casually pulled out his hunting knife, holding it up in the light._

_Jock boy let out a girly little squeak, and lurched back in his seat, eyes glued to the weapon._

_Dean kept his gaze on the cold steel as he spoke quietly… **“Sammy’s my brother and it’s my job to look out for him”**   twirling it until the sun winked off the blade, he waited a second and then set in on the dash. Reaching across, he opened the glove box and pulled out his Beretta. Before the kid could blink, the barrel was pressed to his temple as arctic green eyes bored into him… **“And I’m very good at my job.”**_

_Sam shivered at the deadly promise in Dean’s voice. The sound of a bladder releasing was loud within the confines of the car as the sharp stink of urine filled the space; his brother didn’t even blink._

_**“Are we going to have to talk about this again?”** _

_The kid shook his head so fast he almost gave himself whiplash and Sam bit his lip to keep from laughing._

_**“If you or any of your buddies ever touch my brother again, I will come back, but not to talk. Understand?”** at the boys frantic nod, Dean leaned over and opened the door, shoving the stinking, sniveling quarterback out onto the concrete. The kid rolled to his feet and took off running, diving into his car and roaring out of the parking lot._

_Sam’s brow arched in amusement,_

_“ **I’m very good at my job? Really Dean?”** _

_His brother threw him a grin as he put the gun back in the glove box. **“Told you I’d take care of you Sammy, I promised.”**_

_Sam just smiled as he stared at the blonde before him; he was so damn lucky to have Dean as a brother. Laughing green eyes suddenly met his **“But you’re cleaning that up!”** as he pointed at the wet seat._

_His smile vanished and he opened his mouth to protest, but Dean was already gone; strolling across the lot, whistling as he headed back to the cafeteria. With a grimace of disgust he got out of the car and headed onside to find some paper towels._

Head still hidden by the pillow, his small smile slowly faded as those long ago words echoed in his mind;

**“Told you I’d take care of you Sammy, I promised.”**

Dean had only been a child when he first made that promise but he had kept it; had spent his entire life keeping it.

 **“Just go. I’m not going to stop you.”** His own words from days ago played in his ears as he swallowed the vomit that suddenly filled his throat.

Under the pillow a single tear rolled down his cheek.


	9. Music and a Job

________________________________________

A.N: I am using a Metallica song called “Wherever I May Roam” throughput this chapter. I’m using it because it really fits with this chapter and because it is a great song. Hope you like it.

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Black glistened, chrome flashed, and tires spun as the impala flew down the empty highway, eating up the miles. Music blared out of the windows, projecting waves of sound over

fields and trees as Dean drove through the vacant countryside.

**_and the road becomes my bride.._ **

**_I have stripped of all but pride…_ **

**_So in her I do confide_ …**

 

Arm resting on the ledge of the open window, Dean let the words flow over him. Metallica was the perfect companion for this trip; drowning out the crushing silence and singing him

through the miles, saying for him what he could never say for himself…

 

_**...and with dust in throat I crave...** _

_**only knowledge will I save…** _

_**To the game you stay a slave….** _

 

It was more grief than dust that filled his throat, but hey, no lyrics were perfect. Cravings though, oh Jesus, did he ever have those! He craved his mom with her crust-less

sandwiches, his dad with his emotional constipation, Castiel with his non-existent social skills. And he craved Sammy- his brother-with his puppy dog eyes, and his bitch face, and

his damn rabbit food…he craved it all, his fucking life! So many cravings that filled him up, hollowed him out, and left his heart feeling like the passing scenery; isolated, barren and

void of all humanity. All of those things were gone, every one of them was gone. It was just him now. The music played on;

 

_**Rover wanderer…** _

_**Nomad vagabond…** _

_**Call me what you will…** _

 

Them being gone didn’t stop him from missing them though. Which was why he was currently driving this fucking backwater road, why he was taking this last road trip; because he

missed them, wanted to feel close to them, one last time. For once he was going to get what he wanted and to hell with everything else. His phone was laying in pieces about three

states back, his first of four stops was about a hundred miles ahead, and he had five more days. He blew out a breath and turned the music up.

 

**_Off the beaten path I reign…_ **

**_but I'll take my time anywhere…_ **

**_F_ ** **_ree to speak my mind anywhere..._ **

 

He sang along loudly, the tension draining from his body to fly out the window with the words; he was free. For the next five days he wasn’t responsible for jack shit, his only

obligation to himself. It was a gift he fully intended to enjoy…freedom He sang louder, smiling.

 

**_… I’ll take my time anywhere_ **

**_Free to speak my mind…_ **

**_And I'll take my time anywhere…_ **

**_…anywhere I may roam._ **

 

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**The Bunker**

 

Sam’s fingers flew over the keyboard, digging up information, revealing a pattern. Finally! A case. Gathering up the last of the copies from the printer, he took them to the table,

laying them out next to the ones already there. Taking a step back he slowly looked them over; double checking the pattern, confirming his suspicions. He was right, it was definitely

a vengeful spirit. He closed his eyes and prayed…

_“Castiel, I’m going on a hunt…uh..if you want to go with me…maybe?”_

Wow, do I sound like an idiot! A quiet rustle of wings and Castiel stood opposite him. The angel took his time looking over the table at the news articles and highlighted police reports

before lifting his gaze to him. His head tilted quizzically,

_“What is all this?”_

He could feel the excitement of having something to do, of being useful, start to flow through him as he explained.

_“I found us a case, look.”_

As he picked up a few of the papers and held them out to the angel. Ignoring the offered papers, Castiel continued to stare at him, and really, how creepy was that? Sam’s hand

dropped back to his side and he found himself taking a step back self-consciously. _“_

_Umm, I know it’s just a simple salt-n-burn, but I thought, you know, that you might want to ride along. If you were bored or something.”_

When did being around Cas get so awkward?

_“Why are you doing this?”_

That should be obvious, and his tone said as much when he answered the angel’s stupid question,

_“Wellll because I’m a hunter, and… this (air quote) is my job.”_

Castiel’s head straightened as he drew himself up, planting his feet solidly and drilling Sam with an icy blue stare. Annoyance radiated off the angel in waves.

_“I mean, why are you doing this **now**?”_

Exasperation shot through him at the unwarranted attitude, and he felt himself getting angry in return.

_“What the hell Cas? People are getting hurt, why wouldn’t I do this now?”_

_“Because there are more important things to focus on right now Sam.”_

_“Like what?”_   He fairly shouted _“_

_Like Dean!”_   Castiel shouted back _“You remember him, right? The brother you sent away?”_

He froze at the words, all anger gone; confusion taking its place.

_“What about him?”_

_“Don’t you think it would be better to look for him, instead of chasing after some ghost?”_

_“Why would I do that?”_

Castiel’s fist slammed down on the table, sending papers flying in every direction

**_“Because he is your brother Sam!”_ **

Rage slithered up his legs, vibrated through his chest, and spilled out his mouth

_“You don’t have to tell me that Cas, I know what the fuck he is!”_

What the fuck was the angel’s problem anyway?

_“Do you Sam, do you really know what he is? Because I honestly don’t think you have a clue.”_

That pissed him off.

_“Fuck you Cas! He’s my brother and, yeah, I know him; better than anyone else. Better than you.”_

Castiel stepped closer and looked him straight in the eye,

_“Are you **sure** about that?”_

 

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Authors Note: Sorry about the cliff hanger but a lot of stuff is about to happen and this was the best place to split it. I hope you all will come back for more. Let me know what you think of how it’s all going. I am always grateful for ideas, suggestions, and feedback.


	10. Good Times and Angel Fights

 

_“Higher Dean, push me higher!”_

_“No way Sammy. Any higher and I’ll lose you in the clouds”_

Warmth filled his chest at Sammy’s giggle; it had been too long since he had heard that sound. Five weeks ago, he had screwed up, big time, and his dad had barely gotten back from a hunt in time to stop the Strigga from killing Sammy. Dean had had the shot gun in his hands, but had frozen, unable to pull the trigger, and he had paid for that mistake dearly.

After tucking Sammy back into bed, John had pulled off his belt and dragged Dean out of the room, closing the door behind them. By the time Dad figured he had learned his lesson well enough, he had passed out.

When he woke up the next morning the pain was so horrific that he instantly vomited; crying out as his muscles contracted to empty his stomach. When he was done spewing up raw acid he had collapsed in agony; shaking and crying and covered in throw-up. Dad had been gone already, off on another hunt, and when he could finally bring himself to move, he had rolled over to find his brother sitting quietly beside him, staring. Although Dean had wanted to get up, be strong for his brother, he couldn’t, and his eyes had filled with tears again as shame overwhelmed him. A small hand reached out, gently brushed the tears from his cheeks. Without a word, Sammy had helped him to his feet and shuffled him into the bedroom; stripping his tattered clothes from his body and laying him on his stomach on the bed. Tiny face screwed up in concentration, he carefully got a bowl of warm water and set it on the nightstand, not spilling a drop. Dean was so proud of him. Sammy talked to him for over an hour as he ran a soft cloth over Dean’s body, cleaning away vomit and blood, dirt and shame. After a whole tube of Neosporin and an entire box of gauze pads, he crawled up next to him on the bed. Careful not to hit any welts or cuts, he laid his head on Dean’s chest and quietly whispered, _“it’s okay, Dean. I’ll take care of you.”_ Then he was asleep, snoring softly.

His brother hadn’t smiled once since that day.

Until now.

The day was bright, clear, and a giddy happiness filled him up as he stared at the joy that lit his Sammy’s face. Sometimes it scared him, how much he loved his brother; if anything ever happened to the kid it would destroy him, just fucking end him!

**“Boys, lunch!”** Their dad’s voice carried easily across the park and Dean immediately reached out and grabbed the swing, halting its momentum.

_“You hear that Sammy? Food, come on, I’m starving!”_

_“You’re always hungry Dean!”_   but he was still smiling as he jumped down from the swing and took off at a fast run, _“First one there gets the most fries!”_

_“No fair Dork!”_   and he was running after him, careful to be almost even but not passing as they reached the picnic table, laughing breathlessly, Sammy the winner by half a second.

_“I won, I get the fries!”_ little hands already tearing into the greasy white sack, sifting burgers and pulling out the big red carton. Stuffing the salty potatoes in his mouth, he grabbed a burger and took a seat across from Dean, careful not to disturb any of the papers his dad had strung out across the table. His dad read, his brother ate, and the silence was kind of heavy, and Dean felt kind of happy; it was a good day.

After several sideways glances Sammy hesitantly spoke, his voice quiet and only a little wobbly. _“Uh dad, aren’t you hungry? Do you want to eat?”_ and he picked up the last burger, holding it out to the stern man hunched over the papers at the other end of the picnic table. John lifted his head, staring at Sammy without seeing him; it was clear he was still thinking about the papers. Dean held his breath, but then their dad’s vision cleared, focused on Sammy, and he smiled. _“Sure son, thanks.”_ Reaching out, taking the offered burger and ruffling Sam's hair playfully. Dean let out his breath and smiled, it was a great day. Later, when John pushed Sammy on the swing and all three of them played tag, then rolled down the small hill together and ended up covered in dirt stains, slicked with sweat, with skin all itchy from the dying grass, and Sammy wiggling with giggles? Well, then it wasn’t just a great day anymore; it was one of the best days of his life.

The swing set was still there; a little rusty and a lot faded, but standing center stage of the small park, patiently waiting to deliver happiness to the next little boy or girl to come.

Although the sky was clear, the day was chilly enough to keep most people indoors and the entire park was empty. Dean didn’t mind, he hadn’t come here to people watch. He had come to eat a world class bacon cheeseburger and remember. To indulge himself with salty fries and happy memories; to pay respect to that happiness by once again feeling the specialness of brotherhood, and family bonds.

He had eaten the burger and the fries, he had remembered and felt and cried.

Now he dried his eyes, wiped the grease from his hands, threw away his garbage, and headed back to the impala. With one last look he let it all go, saying a silent goodbye to the empty park and all it represented to him, then he got in the car and started the engine.

Pulling his list from his pocket, he solemnly drew a line through number two and put it away. Throwing the car in gear, he pulled out of the parking lot; continuing his journey. Two down, three to go.

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THE BUNKER:

 

_“Fuck you Cas! He’s my brother and, yeah, I know him; better than anyone else. Better than you.”_

Castiel stepped closer and looked him straight in the eye, _“Are you sure about that?”_

The anger erupted, spewing out of Sam, and he stepped forward, into the Angels personal space, right in his face… _“Hell yes I’m sure! What, you think you know him, huh? You think that because you guys have a fucking “bond” (air quotes), that because he calls for you and you come running like a fucking lap dog, that you know him?”_ and he’s breathing hard, jaw tight, eyes shooting fire. _“Well you’re wrong Castiel. Just because you’re an Angel and can teleport your ass in and out of Dean’s life doesn’t mean that you know everything about him, because you don’t! You hear me?”_   He was yelling now, gesturing wildly, shaking, _**“You don’t know shit!”**_

Castiel lost it, hands shooting out, fisting in Sam’s shirt, propelling him back, back…slamming him into the wall, pinning him like a bug, “ _You cannot even **imagine** what I know Sam. You think I did not exist before you and your brother? You think that I sit quietly in a corner while waiting to “teleport my ass” to you both?”_ his hands were hard, eyes blue flames, as he leaned closer, voice spitting gravel, _“I have existed since before time and I have seen everything! Why do you think I went into Hell for your brother? Why do you think I “come like a fucking lap dog” when he calls? It is because **I** have seen what **you** have not, because **I** know what **you** do not, and because **I** understand what **you do not Sam!** ”_ And he opened his hands, letting go, stepping back, observing the mix of anger and confusion on his friends face; waiting.

The air ripped in and out of Sam’s lungs, anger swelled, crested, and receded. Something about the angel’s words cutting him, slicing deep, leaving him agitated, bleeding confusion, nerves antsy with an unknown fear.

He did not want to know, and he did want to know.

He **had** to know.

_“What are you talking about Castiel? What do you know that I don’t?”_ His voice was quiet, nervous; the angel’s voice was flat, emotionless.

_“I cannot explain it to you Sam. Unless you see it for yourself, you could not possibly understand.”_ As electric blue stared directly into him, past his eyes and straight to his soul. Sam swallowed hard and stepped forward;

“ _Then show me”_

The Angel lifted his hand then hesitated, _“Are you sure this is what you want? Once I have shown you, I cannot take it back. You will carry the knowledge with you always.”_

He closed his eyes, reigning in his fear. He counted silently, slowing his breathing, steadying his nerves, regaining control.

Then he opened his eyes and stared straight at Castiel.

_“Do it”_

The Angel laid his palm on Sam’s head and the world disappeared.

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Authors Note: I am so sorry this took so long to update, I got caught up in finals and a new job and six new baby bunnies. So anyway, I am very sorry for the delay and I am back on track now and will be updating every three days or so. Thank you so much everyone for your comments and critiques and opinions, they mean the world to me. Please continue to let me know what you think, your comments are my motivation to write faster and better.


	11. One Hell of a Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: warnings for possible triggers in this chapter; child abuse, neglect, death/dying. Just a heads up, if any of 
> 
> these are triggers, you may not want to read this chapter.

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Sunshine pouring through lacy curtains, flooding the room with warm light, beige walls glowing softly, hardwood floor buffed and smooth; a kitchen. He was sitting at a table, perched on a chair too big for him, swinging his legs back and forth happily. At the counter a woman, a beautiful woman, long golden curls cascading over her shoulders, down her back, humming softly; mom. She turned, smiling, plate in hand and came to him, placing the sandwich with the crusts cut off in front of him, running her fingers once through his hair, then stepping back, placing a hand on her swollen belly, patting her unborn baby as she watched him eat. His hands reached out, picked up the sandwich, but they weren’t his hands. They were small, tanned, smattered with freckles, and he understood; he wasn’t him now, he was Dean. He was inside Dean, seeing what his brother saw, feeling what his brother felt, chewing rapidly as the taste of peanut butter filled his mouth, coated his tongue, the sandwich and the bright kitchen and the humming woman filling him with blissful happiness, with love and peace, and security. The room dimmed, swirled. He was in a different room and he was nervous, excited, brimming with anticipation as he stood next to the crib. Then the door was opening, and mom was walking in, a small bundle held close to her chest, and he couldn’t see, was dying to see. Then she was next to him, lowering the bundle to him, and a slight weight was in his arms, a tiny face was staring up at him, and a huge emotion was rushing through him, filling him, flooding him, stinging his eyes with tears, making him shake but in a good way. A great way. Little hazel eyes looking at him, impossibly tiny hands complete with fingernails waving erratically as if reaching for him, smooth red cheeks and a slightly scrunched nose; his brother, Sam. No, too little to be a Sam, going to be Sammy. This bundle was his brother, his responsibility, he was going to teach him so much, teach him everything, protect him from everything, watch over him, and be the best brother ever because the bundle was beautiful, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and because those hazel eyes were watching him, looking up to him, completely innocent and trusting, and love was just swamping him, and it was a good feeling, the best feeling, and he never wanted to lose it, never wanted to let his brother down. Tears were rolling down his face but it was okay, it was okay to cry with happiness, and he leaned down and placed a kiss on his new brothers head. Everything swirled again, faster this time, and he was in a small bed, and he was waking up, hearing something, something unknown but wrong, and fear was flooding him, making him have to pee, but he squeezed it back and got out of bed. Sammy, he had to check on Sammy. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet as he opened his bedroom door. Light was in the hallway but not lamp light, flickering light, scary light. He took two steps and his dad was there, running towards him, through hazy smoke filling the hallway, tickling his throat, making him want to cough. His dad was bending over him, and his eyes were intense, scared, and Dean was terrified, he had never seen his dad afraid before so something bad was happening, something really bad, and he suddenly had to pee again, but he didn’t, he couldn’t, because he was frozen. Then his dad was pushing at him, shoving something into him, into his chest, and it was Sammy, little Sammy who was crying and coughing, wrapped in a blanket. His dad was shouting at him, voice hoarse from the smoke, screaming at him to get out, to run, and his arms came up, curled tight around his brother, clutching the baby to his chest. He didn’t want to go, didn’t want to take his eyes from his dad who was turning away, running back down the hall, into the smoke swallowing his home. He wanted to keep watching because he knew, he knew, if he lost sight of his dad, he would be gone forever, disappeared into the black ashyness; but Sammy was sneezing, wailing, gasping on the oily air and he forced himself to move. Then he was running, down the stairs, through the living room, heart pounding, acid in his throat, wanting to stop and bend over and vomit out all the acid so he could breathe, but not stopping, still running, through the dining room and out the front door. Panting and stumbling and shaking and running, running, until he’s across the lawn, to the sidewalk, and his legs can’t move anymore and he stops and he turns around. The night is lit with the scary light from within the house and he can’t breathe but he can see, he can see up, onto the second story window, into Sammy’s nursery where his mother is on the ceiling, blood dripping from her stomach, flames eating at her flesh, crisping her skin black, searing away her hair; and the man with the yellow eyes, yellow even in the firelight, who stands below his mother, who stands in the fire but doesn’t burn. He sees it all, everything, and everything inside of him cracks open, bleeds, writhes and dies. His mother is gone forever and be is dead, just dead inside, no tears because dead kids don’t cry.  
Movement against him, against his chest, and he looks down, moves the blanket aside, stares onto small hazel eyes looking at him, trusting him, and je isn’t dead after all, not completely. He can’t be dead because his brother needs him. He pulls the child closer, kisses his forehead, thinks of the yellow eyed man,  
“It’s okay Sammy, I’ll protect you.”  
...Time speeds up, slows down, stops, and he is suffocating, choking on desperation, not knowing what to do. The motel room is dank, dingy, with no kitchen or microwave, but Sammy is hungry, crying for his bottle, and his dad is drunk, passed out on the sofa, not waking up. He fills the bottle in the rusty bathroom sink, hoping the water is clean, hoping that it won’t make his brother sick. He dumps in the formula, the amount it says too on the back of the can, and he shakes the bottle, shakes it hard, trying to get the powder to mix with the cold water. It’s not working very well and Sammy is crying, crying because he’s hungry, so he runs the hot water in the tub, waits until he sees steam rising, and he holds the bottle under the water. Holds it under water so hot his fingers turn dark red, and it’s burning, burning so bad he cries, but he leaves it there, holds it steady, because his brother is hungry and the formula is all he can eat, and because it has to be warm all the way through for the powder to dissolve. The wailing from the other room gets louder and his tears fall faster, and it sucks, sucks so bad, that his brother is crying in one room and he’s crying in another, and he’s tired of the crying. Tired of it. He wants his dad to wake up, to tell him everything is going to be okay. He wants his brother to not go hungry, to be able to sleep in his crib, and have clean clothes, and he wants his mom, wants his mom so bad it’s a hole in his stomach, and his hand hurts, hurts so bad! Finally its warm enough, and he turns the water off, shakes the bottle again, and carries it to his brother. He crawls onto the bed, cradles Sammy close, and slips the bottle into his mouth. His brother stops crying and Dean is relieved, but he’s worried too. The can was really small, what was he going to do when it ran out? How was he going to get more? And there were only three more diapers in the bag, enough for tonight, maybe the morning too. What was he going to do? Sammy would cry if he was wet or dirty, and his skin would get all red and hurting if he wasn’t changed. Fear bundled in his chest, a great big ball of it that pressed down and choked him. He snuggles Sammy closer and closes his eyes, cries himself to sleep.  
...Fast forward….  
The cracked linoleum is cold beneath him, dirty, gritty against his cheek. He wants to get up but he can’t. His body feels heavy, weightless, not under his control. The room spins around him. How long has it been since he has eaten? Four days? Five? He can’t remember. Guzzling water from the bathroom sink didn’t work anymore, the full feeling went away too fast, left him even more dizzy and achy than before he drank. Dad had been a long time this time, over two weeks now; maybe he wasn’t coming back. Maybe he was dead too. Tears burned his eyes as his empty stomach twisted and burned and he tried to curl in on himself but couldn’t. He was too weak, so he just laid there, mind hazy, room spinning. A sound penetrates through the fog and his mind comes back to him, focuses. Sammy was crying and he gathered himself, forces his limbs to obey, and rolls over, picks himself up off the floor. Sammy is only three, he can’t take care of himself, Dean has to do it. He knows what’s wrong. Sammy is hungry, probably really hungry since he hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was now past nine. Panic claws at his skin, sizzles his nerves; the food was all gone. Even though he had quit eating days ago, trying to save it all for Sammy, it had run out this morning and there was nothing left. The room was spinning again and his knees were shaking so bad he could hardly walk, but Sammy was crying. He had to do something.  
...Time speeds forward and he is walking, stumbling down a deserted sidewalk. It’s dark and he’s scarred, terrified, but he has to keep going, he has to find food for Sammy. Up ahead is light, loud noises, laughter spilling out into the filthy night. He holds his breath, walks as quickly as he can towards the store at the end of the block. His head is down, staring at his feet as he moves, ears burning with cold, and he doesn’t see him. Doesn’t see the man until it’s too late, and a hand gabs him, latches onto his arm, brings him to a stop.  
“Hey there little man, whats your hurry, huh?”  
He looks up and the mans bushy hair is as dirty as the fingers that are squishing into his bicep, hurting him. The jeans and t-shirt look clean, but the teeth that smile at him are yellow and gross and fill his stomach with swishy acid. The man pulls him closer, leans down, breathes rancid breath over his face and blind terror shoots through him, freezing him in place.  
“Are you lost kid?” He can’t answer, can’t breathe, just stares at his feet as the man continues, “Are you hungry kid? I bet you’re hungry right?” and he steps closer, talks lower, “I can help with that you know.” And the other hand reaches out, slides down his cheek, brushes his lips, and he gags at the feel of those hands, skin crawling with icy sickness. “You sure do have a pretty little mouth boy” the grip on him tightens, and he snaps out of it, panic belting through him, and he tries to jerk his arm away, feet scrabbling over the cement as he tries desperately to back up, escape.  
“Hey, what are you doing to that kid?” the voice came from just inside the door of the loud tavern, made the man pause, loosen his grip as he looks over his shoulder, and Dean tears his arm free, turns his body, and he’s running; choking and gasping and running, all the way down the block and into the safety of the small store. He leans against the wall and closes his eyes, catches his breath, slows his heart. He remembers Sammy, crying from hunger, and he straightens up, heads to the counter, stops in front of the young man working there. He gathers his courage and looks up.  
“What can I do for ya kid?” the man sounds bored and he swallows hard, opens his mouth,  
“My dad sent me to pick up the groceries because he’s too sick, but I lost the money on the way here and I can’t find it. My dad is going to be real mad and my brother is hungry. Is there any work I can do for some groceries?” the man stares at him and Dean stares back.  
“Please? I’ll do anything. I’ll clean the bathrooms, and I can mop, and I’ll wash the windows. I just need some food for my brother.”  
“And your sick dad? Don’t you need some food for him too?” The question was asked quietly and Dean swallowed, dropped his gaze.  
“Yeah, uh, for him too.”  
“How old are you kid?”  
He doesn’t see any reason to lie, “Seven”.  
“Okay. The mop buckets in the closet over there. You mop the floor and you can have some groceries.” Relief floods through him, leaving him weak, and he nods and gets the mop. His arms ache and his starved body trembles as he pushes the heavy mop around, but he keeps going, keeps pushing until every inch of the floor is clean, because Sammy needs that food. After he puts the mop away, he grabs a couple of cans of soup, a box of cereal, and a gallon of milk. He hopes it isn’t too much, he hadn’t thought to ask. But when he brought them up to the front, the man looked at them and shook his head. Despair seeped into his bones and he slowly separated a single can of soup and the milk towards him, looking again at the man. But the man just grabbed a hand basket and walked away, returning in a few moments and bagging up the items he had chosen. His breath caught and his heart pounded with painful hope as he watched mac and cheese, lunch meat and chili, crackers and cookies, apples and bananas, orange juice and ice-cream all make their way into the bag. Sliding the filled bag over to him the man asked one question,  
“How old is your brother?”  
Tears burned and his voice wavered,“Three.”  
“Hope he knows how lucky he is to have such a good big brother.”  
...Fast forward…  
The pain is consuming, horrific; eating at his skin, gnawing through his bones. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t even cry as the leather strap whistles another bloody stripe across his chest. His dad is yelling at him, screaming, but he can’t hear what he is saying, can’t hear anything but a high pitched ringing in his ears. It makes it worse, makes his dad angrier, that he doesn’t respond. The belt stops, a hand grips his throat, pulls him to his feet, but his feet don’t support him so he just sort of dangles and sags. Fresh pain tears into his hip as he is thrown into the kitchen table. The table breaks and he collapses with it. He lays there, done, just fucking done, praying to pass out soon, but his dad turns away from him, moves towards the bathroom door, and Dean drags himself to his knees. Sammy is in the bathroom, hiding behind the flimsily locked door like Dean had told him to. Sammy is hiding in the bathroom and he is crying and dad is almost to the door so Dean forces himself to his feet, stumbles across the kitchen and launches himself at his dad. He’s too weak, doesn’t do any damage, just sort of bounces off dads back and lands on his ass, but it’s okay, because dads turning back, kicking at him, hitting at him, and oh God it hurts so bad, but Sammy is safe, safe behind the door. Blood is dripping into his eyes, rolling down his throat, and his body is on fire. A huge fist is coming towards him, right at his head, he is scared for a moment, worried about Sammy, and then everything goes black.  
...Forward, forward…  
Oh God, oh God, oh God! He puts his hands on his legs, bends at the waist, and tries to breathe but it doesn’t work. Total panic seizes him and he drops to his knees, vomiting onto the carpet. His hands shake so bad he can hardly hold the phone and it takes him three tries to dial the number right. When the voice answers he swallows hard and opens his mouth “Dad, come home. Sammy is gone.” A click sounds in his ear and he lets the phone drop. He grips his knees, rocks back and forth; Sammy, oh God Sammy was gone, had run away. His brothers’ clothes and books were gone and the ratty ass hotel room had never felt so cold, the silent emptiness smothering him, drowning him. Shame filled him and he rocked himself harder; his fault, this was his fault. He was supposed to look out for his brother, take care of him, and he had failed. He knew Sammy hated moving all the time, living in hotel rooms. He knew that sometimes Sammy was still hungry after lunch or dinner, even though he always said he was full. He knew that sometimes his brother went cold, that his shoes were getting too small and were pinching his toes, and that his pants were getting too short for his constantly growing legs. He knew all of it, and he hadn’t fixed it. He had tried God had he tried; but there wasn’t always enough food and even when he only ate once every three days, there still wasn’t enough…and even when he piled all the blankets together and snuggled his brother under them, it wasn’t really enough to keep warm with the snow mounded up outside and the windows covered in frost. He had asked his dad for money to buy Sammy shoes and had gotten a black eye and a lecture about money not growing on trees for his troubles. He had tried to find work, any work, but no one would hire a fourteen year old, not even to scrub toilets, and in the end he hadn’t been able to fix a damn thing. He was supposed to take care of his brother and he had failed and now Sammy hated him, had run away and left him alone in this broken down hotel room. Tears gushed down his face as agony cut through his soul and he tried to keep it together, tried to get a grip, because dad was coming and they had to find Sammy, they just had to!  
His dad was going to kill him, was going to take out his belt and beat him to death for failing so badly, but he didn’t even care, would gladly take whatever beating dad dished out, as long as they found Sammy safe.  
Please Sammy, be safe. And he was rocking again, back and forth; oh please, oh please, oh please……  
...Forward…  
……..breath jammed in his throat as he strained forward, staring, then he was opening the door, falling out of the car and picking himself up, running towards the small figure coming out of the abandoned trailer, his heart pumping a hundred miles an hour. Then he had him, had his brother in his arms, hugging him tight and Sammy was hugging back, thin arms around his waist, and he could breathe again. Everything was okay, it was okay; his brother was unhurt just embarrassed and sorry for running away, and it didn’t matter, Dean forgave him, and his world made sense again. His brother was back and he was safe……  
....Forward...forward... Water gushed up his nose, in his mouth; forced its way down his throat, into his lungs. His hands and feet flailed, grasping at air as his vision dimmed. Before he passed out the hand in his hair tightened, pulled hard, lifted his head out of the bathtub. Sputtering wildly he tried desperately to cough, to expel the liquid from his soggy lungs so that he could drag in a breath. The air burned his raw throat but he needed it, was going to die if he didn’t get it. His clothes were soaked and shivers wracked his body from the ice cold dunking. Hard porcelain dug onto his ribs from where he was pressed over the side of the tub, and dad’s knee against his back was compressing his chest so much that even with the water out of his insides, he couldn’t take a full breath. Didn’t matter of he could breathe now or not, dad had been pushing him under longer and longer each time and was going to drown him in just a few seconds. It was what he deserved for failing Sammy, for not taking care of him and making him runaway. Sammy was sleeping safely on the next room because dad had found him, so he could do whatever he wanted. Sammy was safe. The hand tightened, pushed, and freezing liquid smothered his head. His ears popped, his hands stilled, and his vision went black. The next thing he knew, lips were over his, blowing air into his mouth, hard hands were pushing into his chest in a fast rhythm and water was spewing out of his mouth. His body spasmed, twitched across the bathroom floor, as air rushed into his lungs. Without a word, his dad stood up and left the bathroom, leaving him shaking and shivering in the corner…..

...

Castiel lifted his palm.  
“Gnngh” Sam couldn’t talk, his knees buckled, dropping him to the floor and he rolled over, curled into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest. The angel dropped down beside him, laid a hand on his arm, and Sam flinched away, scrabbling back. He didn’t want to be touched right now, couldn’t stand it.  
“Sam are you all right?” Castiel’s voice was gentle, full of concern.  
What a stupid ass question, did he look like he was all right? He was shaking, shivering, tears streaming down his face. He had just fucking felt his brother die damn it! The fucking angel could wait, he needed a moment.  
Silence filled the bunker as he laid there, but the more time that passed, the worse he shook. It wasn’t over yet. The things he had seen, felt, the shit he had never known; it was bad, worse than he could ever have imagined. He had watched his mother burn to death, felt his brother’s skin being flayed from his body with a belt, felt Deans bones being broken, and his lungs filling up with water; and it wasn’t over yet. There was still more to see.  
“Why did you stop?” his voice was splintered and he didn’t move his gaze from his knees.  
“I was worried Sam. You were screaming and crying, then you were gasping like you couldn’t breathe. You started going into convulsions. I had to stop”  
He wasn’t surprised by Castiel’s words. Experiencing what his brother had gone through had been pure hell and he was sure that it was only going to get worse, but he was going to do it. He was going to see it all, every second of Dean’s life; because through all the terror, all the pain his brother had felt, Sam had felt Deans love for him. His brother had let himself be tortured, let himself be used as a punching bag and drowned in a fucking bathtub; and he had done it all for Sam.  
He took a deep breath, straightened his body and sat up. Looking the angel straight in the eye he gave a single nod.  
“Finish it”  
 


	12. Thinking of You

** Chapter 13 **

The narrow dirt track had filled in over the years; weeds and scrub grass all but obscuring the rutted lane. Didn’t matter though, Dean knew exactly where it was at, unerringly turning the impala into the over grown entrance. The tires smoothed over the vegetation, slipping gently in and out of ancient pot holes and ruts. Cresting the mountain, he drove to the middle of the clearing before bringing the car to a stop and getting out.

As he laid back on the impala’s hood the cold bit through his jacket, chilling his back. Bringing the beer to his lips he ignored the shivers wracking his body, letting the yeasty liquid slide down his throat as the silence wrapped around him. He and Sam used to come here every chance they got, at least three times a year. This place had been like their vacation home, which was actually pretty fucking weird considering that they had never had a _non-vacation_ home. He didn’t know how else to think about it though.

Years and years ago they had found this place by accident, and by some unspoken agreement, they always came back. Every time things got to be too much they would just look at each other, silently pack a bag, and head here from wherever they were. That was before though; before visits to hell, Leviathans, demon deals, and falling angels. Before secrets and lies and never ending disappointments.

Used to be they would park up here and lay for hours, just watching the stars and quietly absorbing each other’s company. The tensions of the hunts, the frustrations of living 

in each other’s pockets; all of it would just drain away beneath millions of twinkling lights almost close enough to touch. The weight in his chest grew heavier and his eyes 

burned as the memories swirled around him.

After a while he laid his head back and lifted his gaze. The stars really were so fucking beautiful.

 

 

**The Bunker…**

 

Even closed his eyes felt gritty, every muscle ached, and judging from the taste, a dog had shit in his mouth. Exactly how much _had_ he drank last night anyway? Letting out a tired sigh, he brought his palms to his face, gingerly trying to rub away the last painful dregs of sleep. Sharp red pain lanced through his skull and he froze, brain throbbing and nausea rising.

Damn! The last time he’d had a hang over this bad was when he’d graduated high school. Dad had been gone on a hunt and they were broke, so Dean had picked the lock on every empty room in the entire hotel and “confiscated” the contents of all the mini-bars.

_“Come on Sam, their called complimentary bars for a reason!”_ It had been his first time drinking anything stronger than beer and he had been so excited. His clearest memory of that night was of hanging over the toilet and thinking that it tasted a hell of a lot better going down than coming up. His lips curled in a small grin despite the pain of movement; Poor Dean, he had spent the entire night on the freezing bathroom floor, holding his head while he puked…and just like that, he remembered. The breath stuttered in his lungs and his diaphragm seized as an agony of memories crashed over him; his fight with the Angel, Castiel’s hand on is head, time speeding up, slowing down, stopping, and then speeding up again. On and on it had went, forever it seemed; dragging Sam along. Relentlessly shoving him into chunks of his brother’s life; a life he could never have imagined, not even in his worst moments.

He couldn’t breathe, he was suffocating, choking on his own spit, panic smothering him! His eyes snapped open, staring at the ceiling, concentrating on the dull gray surface, focusing, forcibly shoving the memories away.

_Don’t think, don’t think, just look;_ the way the ceiling was perfectly flat, no slope what-so-ever… his lungs unlocked, air rushing in, filling his chest.

_Come on, concentrate, concentrate…don’t remember;_ the slight sheen of the smooth surface giving it the appearance of an old metal mirror…his throat relaxed, the spit swallowed down, no longer choking him.

_That’s it, the ceiling, nothing else but the ceiling, focus, focus;_ the hot smell of sulfur burning his nose, sharp hooks tearing through his shoulders, holding him still as the thin knife stripped the skin from his face.

_No! Not that, the ceiling, the fucking ceiling! See it… right there, two little spots above him;_ A nasally voice droning through the frenzy of white-hot agony as he was methodically skinned alive _“was it really worth it Dean? All of this for_ **_one_** _little brother_? _Really_?”

_Two fucking spots, darker than the rest of the ceiling…water maybe? Dust? …right there above him;_ another strip, the flesh of his cheek thrown on the floor with a terrible wet sound, he worked his throat, on fire from days of screaming, gagged on the blood filling it, worked it harder and managed to produce raspy sound… _“Yes… worth it”_

**“Fuck!”** Sam’s anguished cry pierced the silence of the bunker as he quickly rolled and vomited over the side of the bed. More memories rolled in as he puked over and over, until it felt like his very soul was lying in a liquid mess on the floor.

When the throbbing nausea finally relented, he shakily wiped his mouth and fell back against the pillows. Shivers wracked his body as his own words echoed in his head …

_“Just go_ _Dean.”_

He closed his eyes in weary despair,

**_Oh God, what have I done?_ **

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Angelic Hissy Fits

 

The old library was empty save for the grandmotherly figure manning the desk and a single other person. The slight figure had curled up in a corner chair hours earlier, opened a small laptop, and had not moved or made a noise since. The sporadic humming of the librarian and the quiet scroll and click of the mouse were the only sounds as the day seeped into night.

Just before closing, the silence was shattered by the slamming close of the laptop.

“ **Damn Winchesters!”** the stranger cursed, savagely stuffing the computer into its case.

Slinging the strap over a shoulder, the person sighed in annoyance and walked out.

The large double doors closed with a tiny snick, and the old library was once again silent.

* * *

 

Dean’s hands trembled as he clutched the envelopes to his chest. He had done this before; spent hours writing letters of explanations, letters of guilt and apologies…letters of good bye. He had never imagined that he would be doing it again. Luckily it was easier this time. For one thing there were no explanations needed because they didn’t matter anymore; and for another thing, there were only two this time. Everyone else was dead.

No, these letters weren’t all chick-flick emotional like last time. These letters were his last will and testament; just straight instructions and a single apology.

That’s why it had taken him hours though; there was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to explain, and when he had sat with that pen in his hand, he had frozen. He had wanted to tell his brother about it all; about how desperate he had been, how every fiber of his being had been caving in at the thought of never seeing those dimples again, never again being suckered into doing stupid shit by a pair of ridiculously effective puppy-dog eyes…and he had wanted to tell his brother he was sorry, so fucking sorry, not for tricking him into living though, never for that. No, he was sorry that he was a coward…sorry that he was such a fucking pussy that he couldn’t make it on his own, couldn’t keep living and fighting without his brother; and he was so damn sorry, to his soul sorry, because when it came down to it, he would do it again.

Which was why he hadn’t been able to write any of it, any of what he had wanted to say. Sam hated him, absolutely hated him, for what he had done, and Dean would do it again, all of it.

No explanation or apology could ever fix that.

* * *

 

 

Sam’s hands trembled as he clutched the mug to his chest. He had done this before; spent hours shaking as he concentrated on holding a half-full cup of coffee steady enough to drink it instead of wear it. It was harder this time though. For one thing his hang over was caused by mental time travel not alcohol, and for another, no amount of pain killers could ease his headache since Tylenol didn’t cure memories.

There was nothing else he could do though, so he stayed hunched over the kitchen table…stayed there as Castiel came and sat beside him, waited, eventually gave up and left… stayed there at the table, sipping his coffee… nothing else at all he could do.

 

* * *

 

 

The small car weaved in and out of traffic, tailgating aggressively, the horn blaring in frustration. Taking a deep breath, the driver wrapped rigid fingers around the steering wheel and tried to tamp down on the overwhelming anger that all but filled the car. Yes, the Winchesters deserved the anger. From what the person had been able to gather, they deserved to get their asses kicked…but they weren’t here right now and if not careful, the over flowing rage was going to cause a wreck.

The rasp of oxygen being forcibly inhaled and exhaled filled the small interior as the vehicle slowed slightly. Hands stiff with tension gradually lightened their grip, and eventually the car dropped back further, soon traveling at legal speed for the first time in days.

No need to hurry, there really was no place for the boys to hide. They could always be found… always. Despite the thought, the accelerator was again pressed harder; thin lips pulled into a satisfied smirk as the excitement built steadily.

Oh yes...the Winchester brothers…they deserved _**everything** _ that was coming to them.

* * *

 

The grass was warm, prickly through his thin t-shirt as Dean lay back upon it. After dropping the letters into the public mailbox early this morning he had gotten in the impala and driven for hours. He had no idea where he was now, some dinky little side of the highway town, but the car had needed gas and his back had needed a break. The park across from the gas station wasn’t all that big, but the playground was lit with giggles of joy, the grass was green and lush, and just looking at it had made him feel good. The sun felt warm on his face as he stretched out on the ground, enjoying the sounds of happy children and sighing in pleasure as the tension drained from his muscles, leaving his body relaxed and pliant.

Man was he glad he stopped! He needed this, needed a moment to forget where he had come from and where he was going next. This place was filled with the creak of swings, the thump-thump of teeter-totters, and the whine of a merry-go-round in need of oiling. It was peaceful and innocent and the perfect place to forget the shit storm his life had become.

Closing his eyes he breathed deep and thought back…back to when he and Sam were younger, back to when his brother was still his brother and life was good. If at first people thought it strange that a man without kids would come to a children’s park to lay down, one look at the resting figure quickly dispelled all nervousness. Few people had ever been graced with the opportunity to witness a look of such utter and complete contentment. Indeed, the blonde haired man radiated such a wave of serenity that most parents couldn’t refrain from watching enviously.

Oblivious to the looks, Dean continued to remember, a small smile gracing his lips as he slid gently into sleep.

 

* * *

 

Castiel was mad. He had been so angry at Dean for tricking Sam into being possessed by an angel, but understanding why he had done it, he hadn’t been able to hold onto his anger for long. He had been so angry at Sam for telling Dean to go, but seeing how much he was suffering from regret, his anger had faded away. The whole thing was pissing him off!

In the time he had spent on earth, he had witnessed various actions of extreme stupidity; building a tower of worship out of dried shit, wearing ridiculous looking cod-pieces…listening to Justin Beiber. Yes, he was no stranger to how utterly clueless the human race could be, but even he was shocked by the sheer level of ridiculousness the Winchester brothers had managed to reach.

One would think that after all the shit they had been through, all the times they had almost lost each other, that they would’ve come to understand one important fact of life; they belonged together, they were Family! Sam could spout all the nonsense he wanted about Dean using the word as a excuse for everything, could talk until he’s blue in the face about how everything bad happens because of being “family”, but he was wrong, so fucking wrong. The only salvation those two had, was that they had each other as family. Not family like blood relation, though they were that too, but Family like the universe had never known; a connection so strong that neither Heaven nor Hell could break it, though both had certainly tried.

Standing in the garage of the bunker, Castiel shook his head in vexation, it was almost inconceivable. Those two selfless, courageous, stupid, humans were managing to do

what both the most perverted King of Hell and The fiercest Archangel of Heaven couldn’t; split them apart. Staring at the empty spot before him, he feels the anger swell, sweeping through his body; the impala should be parked in that spot, Dean should be sitting next to Sam at the table, and team Free Will should be planning their next move. None of that was happening though, and his anger quickly spiked to rage. Turning sharply, he headed back inside. Enough of this shit, it was time to end this crap.

His steps clanged loudly on the cold cement, trench coat billowing behind him as he strode purposely down the hall; one poor Winchester was about to witness a certain ex- angel of the lord throw a spectacularly human hissy fit!

* * *

 


	14. A New Look on Old Times

The slowly setting sun bathed the dreaming mans face in golden light, accentuating the tiny smile he wore in his sleep…

_Dean stared at his watch, counting down the seconds; 4…3…2… brrzzzz, the text came right on time and he was already laughing as he opened his phone to read it. “I HATE YOU JERK!”  Hmm all in caps, little Samantha must be_ really _pissed. At that thought laughter tore out of him so hard tears streamed down his face. Served the little bitch right, he was the one who had started this little prank war. In the past week Dean had had his Oreos filled with toothpaste – fucking gross, the raspberry filling in his donut sucked out and replaced with ketchup – double fucking gross, and his radio station reset. For embarrassment, there’s nothing like throwing a hot chick a sexy wink, sliding into the impala like a mysterious badass, turning the key … and having the fucking Backstreet Boys blare from his speakers! He had never blushed so hard in his life._

_Oh yeah, Sam had definitely asked for this. It hadn’t even been that hard; get a bathroom pass in the middle of class, sneak into the gym and into the locker room. It had taken him less than thirty seconds to crack the combination lock, (Sam was such a nerd, the date he won the Mathletes competition, really?) and less than a minute to steal all his clothes and replace them with the red and white cheerleader’s outfit. Another minute to sneak back out, get down the hall, and back to his class. The whole thing had taken less than four minutes…easy as pie._

_Knowing how prissy his brother was about his hair it was a sure thing that Sam would shower after class, which meant stripping off his uniform and tossing it in the laundry basket first. A neatly folded twenty slipped to the towel boy at lunch ensured that all uniforms (clean and dirty, just to be safe) would be hauled away to the basement the moment Sam stepped into the stall, leaving the gangly boy with only two options; walk to the car either buck naked or decked out like high school Barbie. Taking a seat on the hood of the impala, Dean waited._

_He really hoped Sam used the Pom- Poms, they totally completed the look._

 

 

* * *

 

 

The single occupant of the roadside diner read from the laptop, scrolling through various web pages while leisurely finishing lunch. Bite after bite, the turkey sandwich disappeared as the patron studied the screen with an intensity sharper than a shrews tongue. Although the soda glass was empty on the table and the pie menu sat next to the computer, the waitress didn’t approach to ask about refills or dessert, choosing instead to stay across the room, hovering by the coffee machine. So what if she got a shitty tip, the customer in the end booth was giving off some of the angriest vibes the woman had ever felt and there wasn’t a tip in the world big enough to get her to go over there again. Remembering the look she had seen harbored deep inside those green eyes when she had first taken the order, she shivered slightly, and stayed where she was. Silence filled the diner and the normally welcoming interior felt oddly cold and uninviting.

The wall clock ticked the seconds, overly loud in the stillness, as a sheen of nervous sweat slicked the waitresses back.

Hardly daring to breathe, she waited.

* * *

 

 

Castiel swept into the kitchen in a cloud of rage, all tight muscles and snapping blue eyes. Mouth open, ready to pitch a fit worthy of an Oscar, he only made it three steps into the room. At the sound of footsteps, Sam looked up from the table, and Castiel slammed into a brick wall of puppy-dog eyes. Big, round, hazel orbs; looking all innocent and sad and shimmering with tears.

Instantly, all anger was gone, and he snorted in wry amusement; he was as bad as Dean.

_Dammit!_

Shaking his head at himself, he pulled out a chair and took a seat as Sam went back to sipping his coffee; was there even anything left in the cup? Frustration fizzled through him as he stared at the bent head across from him. What he had shown Sam had been tough, yes, and it would take some time to process; but what Sam had been doing all day wasn’t processing, it was moping. The giant man sitting before him was folded, hunched in on himself, as if he had given up. The famous dimples were pulled down, the broad shoulders slumped. Castiel had never seen this before; Sam Winchester looked defeated and it was **not** a good look on him!

His head spun, ideas flying in and out at warp speed; two minutes ago he had been all set to blast Sam for not realizing how important it was to cut loose of the guilt and get busy finding Dean. Since he was enough of a sucker to fall for “the look” though, he now had to find a different way to push the stubborn ass into an epiphany.

Sooo……what to do, what to do? After a minute, an idea came to him; maybe if Sam remembered the good, he could forget about the bad…maybe going back to the beginning was the key Sam needed to find what had been lost; his bond with his brother and his will to fight. His head snapped up and his eyes locked on the young man. When he spoke, his voice was gravel and stone; a clear command…

“Sam, tell me about your brother.”

* * *

 

 

The harsh command brought him back to the present with a jerk. Lifting his head, he felt his brow wrinkle slightly as he stared at Castiel in confusion “What?”

“Tell me about your brother.” The former angel repeated.

A spurt of anger pinged through his stomach and his hands clenched as he sat forward, “Is that a joke Cas? Are you trying to be funny?”

“No Sam, I am not trying to be funny,” he sighed, “I want you to tell me about your brother please.”

For a moment, his own words, spoken years ago, ran in his head; _‘I’ve been looking up to you my entire life…studying you…trying to be just like my big brother. So yeah, I know_ _you…better than anyone._ ’ God, he had been so wrong.

“Cas, you just spent the night ‘showing ’me how much more you know about him than I do, what could I possibly say that you don’t already know?’ The anger was gone now, replaced by a weary sadness that left him feeling hollowed out and empty.

A tiny frown pulled at Castiel’s face as he leaned forward and cleared his throat. “Sam, forgive for making you feel like that, that was not my intention. I showed you those things because I wanted you to understand why I made the choices I have made, not because I wanted to prove I knew more about Dean than you.”

“Yeah well, either way, the fact is that you do know more than me, so I really don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You are wrong Sam. I do not know more, if anything, I know less.”

That got his attention and he finally met the intense blue eyes staring at him.

“I know facts, Sam. I know times and places and events; I even know the emotions. What I don’t know, can never know unless you tell me, is about the bond that made those emotions possible. I once told you that Dean and I share a “profound bond” but I was wrong. I am an outsider Sam. An outsider who was lucky enough to witness acts of amazing courage and true selflessness sure, but an outsider none the less.”

His eyes stung and his throat grew tight, but he did not drop his gaze. Seeing his struggle, Castiel sighed before quietly continuing.

“When I laid my hand on your head I shared every image of your brother I have, but I do not think that you saw the same things that I saw Sam.”

“What do you mean?”

“We both saw the beatings, the punishments, and even the deaths; but I think only I saw the reason. You once told your brother that you spent years trying to be like him, but Sam, every sacrifice Dean has ever made, every heroic action he has ever taken, was because _he_ was trying to be like _you._ You are the light in his soul Sam, the very foundation of his strength; of course you know him better than I do. _I_ am his friend Sam, but _you_ are his brother.”

Feeling the hot wetness ide down his cheek, he hastily wiped his face and sat back. Taking a breath he spoke, “What do you want to know?”

Castiel smiled as he gave a small nod. “Tell me what it is like to have a big brother.”

Memories raced through his brain, picture after picture, scene after scene; so many to choose from, where to begin? After a moment, he had it. A huge grin lit his face as he lifted his head and asked

“Did I ever tell you about the first time Dean took me trick-or-treating?”


	15. Visiting the Past

He wasn’t surprised when the Sheriffs car pulled up alongside him; only that it had taken so long. He’d been sitting here, perched on the hood of his car and staring at the house across the street, for over half an hour now; which meant that no one had called the police for at least the first ten minutes. From the sour look on the deputy’s face, he could just imagine how that call had went:  
“Yeah, hello, sheriff? This here’s Tom (or Billy, or Bob, or Chuck…whatever). There’s this scruffy looking man sitting outside on his car. Been sitting there for a while now just staring at the empty house across the street, not moving or nothing…like he’s a zombie or something….think maybe he’s on drugs…getting ready to go crazy or something …I’m telling you sheriff, the man’s up to no good. You’d better get over here and check it out.”  
Although almost thirty years had passed, the neighborhood really hadn’t changed much; the yards were neatly mowed, the porches were clean, and the people were nosy. This area was Lawrence Kansas’s very own version of ‘Mr. Rogers Neighborhood’; just with more cardigans and fewer puppets. In his short amount of time sitting, three separate people and one couple had passed by; all walking fancy-assed balls of fur he was pretty sure were dogs, and all wearing different colored variations of old people sweaters. The flannel and leather he was decked out in made him as out of place as a Nun in a nudist colony. So, yeah…he wasn’t surprised by the vehicle and waited patiently until the deputy was finished rolling down his window.  
Sliding slowly down from the hood, he crossed his ankles, hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans, and leaned back; propped nonchalantly against the driver’s door of the impala.  
“Howdy Sheriff, nice day isn’t it?”  
 

* * *

  
The Bunker  
“So Dean just sat there, smiling and nodding his head as that crotchety old nurse went on and on about how he had to leave when visiting hours were over, which was like five more minutes, right? And I just laid there, not saying anything, but inside, I was like no, don’t go. Man, I was so scared…”  
Castiel smiled briefly, watching the different emotions play across Sam’s face, listening as his voice rose and fell as he recounted yet another story of his past. They had been sitting there for hours, sprawled back in their chairs, sipping cup after cup of coffee as Sam took Castiel through his childhood memories of Dean.  
He had to admit he was enjoying the experience. He had, of course, witnessed all of the things that Sam spoke of, but all of it had been through the eyes of an Angel; everything looked so much better through the eyes of a brother. He nodded slightly, encouraging Sam to continue the story of when he got appendicitis.  
“When Dean hugged me good-bye, I almost cried. I felt so stupid when my eyes got all watery. I mean, I was twelve years old and I knew how to shoot a gun and how to hold a knife and throw a punch, but with dad gone on a hunt and the pain in my side and me with no weapon? I’m telling you, at that moment, being alone in that hospital was scarier than any monster I had ever read about. So yeah, my eyes got all watery and I got all embarrassed and I was blushing and sniffing, and Dean….Dean just ruffled my hair, threw me a wink, and left.”  
Sam paused and shook his head for a moment before laughing quietly.  
“I was such a snot! I should have known better than to think Dean would actually leave me there alone. Not ten minutes after that mean old bat shuffled him out, Dean was back. Cracking my door open and darting inside, hands full of candy bars and sodas, with a deck of cards sticking out of his back pocket…. ‘Heya Sammy, did you miss me?’…” a quick smile flitted across Sam’s face, “I had never been more relieved to see anyone in my life. He stayed the whole night, hiding under the bed, or behind the privacy curtain every time Nurse Hitler came to check on me.” A laugh snorted out of him as his smile deepened, hazel eyes lost in memory, “He even hid in the bathroom once, behind the shower curtain. Big mistake on his part since the old dictator apparently had a weak bladder. I held my breath the whole time she was in there, almost passed from lack of oxygen I was so nervous. I was so sure our gig was up, but she came out none the wiser. She fiddled with my I.V and left. A minute later Dean came stumbling out, all pale and grossed out, mumbling about needing to scour his ears with bleach and being scarred for life.”  
Laughter bounced off the walls of the kitchen as Castiel sat back, shaking his head in mirth. Ahhhh…the joys of brotherhood.  
 

* * *

  
The car eased to a stop, the sound of the engine cutting off sharply with a harsh turn of the key. Icy green eyes stared out the windshield, focused on the tall building ahead; there it was…the Winchester hide out, better known as The Bunker. The area was deserted, an old industrial neighborhood, inactive and forgotten many years ago. Silence beat at the vehicle, echoing hollowly up and down the dead end road; more a sense of should be noise than a ghost of actual noise.  
Hands clenched and a heart raced in almost breathless anticipation; the time had finally come to face them.  
A tortured screech shattered through the sun-lit stillness as the driver’s side door opened, emitting its sole occupant. The figure stretched fully, cracking knuckles and loosening joints, before slamming the door and strolling towards the stairs that angled underground.  
A cold smile sat mockingly on thin lips and emerald eyes narrowed in fierce satisfaction at the thought of the coming confrontation; the Winchester brothers wouldn’t know what hit them!  
 

* * *

  
From the way he rolled his eyes, Dean got the impression that the sheriff did not think it was such a nice day after all. Oh well, at least he wasn’t jumping out of the car or drawing his gun, choosing instead to stay seated; arm hung casually out the window while staring at him bitchily. _He must know Sam_ he thought, grinning to himself.

After a tense moment, the sheriff finally decided to grace Dean with conversation…

“What are you doing boy?”

_Boy?_

Dean’s grin grew bigger as he stayed relaxed against the car.

“Standing.” He answered, voice drier than the Mojave.

The sheriff just snorted and… _again with the eye roll_ … really?

“Yeah, I got that, boy. Any _particular_ reason you’re standing?”

“Because I like it better than sitting?”

He paused a moment, and…yep, there it was…eye roll number three… dude was gonna give himself an aneurism if he kept it up.

“Let me rephrase that for you boy; any _particular_ reason you’re standing here, instead of somewhere more…inviting?”

Dean shrugged, enjoying himself, “I like the view.”

The sheriff nodded, and Dean knew it was coming, waited for it…

“Any _particular_ view?”

“Well…” he drawled out, all sarcastically cool James Dean impression, “I might be a little partial to that _particular_ (again with the sarcasm) house over there.” A quick jerk of his chin pointed to the place across the street.

“Ahhhh……that house” another solemn nod, “So…overgrown lawns and for sale signs are what turns you’re crank, huh?” asked with a pound of laconic cynicism packed into his voice; the sheriff was an impressive dude.

A beat of silence and Dean finally decided to give the guy a break.

“Not so much, no. I grew up in that house and I just stopped by to see it on my way through town.”

Maybe it was something in is voice, maybe a slight twitch in his expression, but the sheriff picked up on something that made him look a little deeper at Dean.

“When people look to revisit their childhood, it usually isn’t empty houses that they go to see.” All traces of humor gone as he stared, waiting for an answer.

Dean shuffled his feet for a moment, skin antsy with old pain, before looking up across the street.

“My dad hung that tire swing in that tree over there. My brother and I played tag in that yard.” Slowly his eyes drifted over the place, coming to a stop on one of the upstairs windows “My mother died in that house.” Swallowing the wad of pain choking his throat, he met the sheriff’s eyes,

“That house isn’t empty to me”  
________________________________________


	16. Notice

So, wanted to tell everyone how sorry I am for not updating lately. My two year old nephew was killed and it has been a nightmare of police interviews, funeral preparations, and extreme grieving. The last couple of weeks have been the worst days of my life and writing has been the furthest thing from my mind. My daughter mentioned it today and reminded me, so I am just posting this to let everyone who has been nice enough to follow my story, that I am sorry for the past delay, and that it will probably be another week or two before I post again. If everyone will hang in with me for a little longer, I will finish the story soon, I promise. I just can’t right now. Sorry.


	17. The look

I am sorry for how long it has been since my last update, I really needed the time to deal with everything. I wanted to say thank you so very much to everyone for all of your continued support and your messages and prayers, I cannot even begin to tell you how much it meant to me to read them. Thank you to everyone who has not given up on this story, and gave me the time I needed to grieve. Every single one of you is an amazing person and no matter what happens in all of your lives; please know that there is someone (me) out there who appreciates you so much. I hope everyone is safe and doing well.  
Now…on with the story  
________________________________________  
Chapter 17

As the sun slowly sank into the horizon the impala rolled onto the highway, leaving Lawrence Kansas for the last time. Her driver had completed his list; he was done with his goodbyes now and it was time for them to move on. Her motor purred and her paint gleamed as her driver blared music through her speakers and pressed heavily on her gas pedal; steering them both out of their past and into their future; whatever it should hold.  
________________________________________  
Sam stared at the book before him but nothing was registering. He had spent hours telling Castiel stories of his childhood and now he couldn’t get Dean out of his mind. The look on his face when he had told him to go, the last look Sam had seen from his brother, was on constant replay in his brain. He had been too angry that night to really register it, but now it kept tugging at him, trying to get his attention. It was like viewing something underwater, the picture constantly wavering in and out of focus and the harder he tried to see it the more the image slipped away.  
Slamming the book down in frustration he closed his eyes and dropped his head to the table, trying to ignore the feeling of dread wrapped around his spine; what the hell is so important about that look? What did he miss?  
________________________________________  
Castiel’s head jerked up as the slamming of the text echoed throughout the room. The outburst seemed a bit extreme, even for Sam, who tended to be overly emotional (girly, as Dean called it) at times. He watched in concern as his friend dropped his head down, breathing heavy and shoulders tense. He stood and walked to the table, pulling out a chair and sitting across from the angry giant.  
“Sam, what’s wrong?”  
“Icaremmer…” came the garbled response from under five-pounds of shaggy hair.  
“I did not understand any of that Sam.”  
The hair lifted and hazel eyes met his, “I can’t remember, Castiel. I need to remember, I need to, but I can’t.”  
“What can you not remember, Sam?”  
“The look… I can’t remember the fucking look!” and a Sasquatch arm swept across the table, launching the book and papers into the air.  
Oookkayy….so very extreme…  
Giving silent thanks that Angels were blessed with infinite patience (well, compared to humans anyways) Castiel took a deep breath and spoke quietly.  
“Exactly what look can you not remember Sam?”  
The hairs on Castiel’s arms stood straight up as the wave of silent frustration sweeping the room ratcheted up about five levels in about two seconds. Girly indeed, he thought; Sam was positively vibrating with outrage that Castiel hadn’t immediately understood his cryptic, uninformative sentence.  
“The look, Castiel! The last look he gave me!”  
Because that certainly told him everything, and really, did Sam just growl at him?  
Hmmmm….  
Another thankful prayer for the patience, and then…  
“Sam, although I do have the ability to read your thoughts, I gave my promise not to, so if you want me to understand what you are speaking about, then I am afraid you are going to have to actually say something more informative than just ‘the look’.”  
After being shown bitch-face number eight (according to Dean) Sam sat up straight and spoke. The words came calmly, clearly, and through teeth gritted so hard they were in danger of cracking.  
“The night that I told Dean to go, after I said those words to him, there was a look on his face, and I cannot remember it. I was angry and hurting and I wasn’t paying attention I guess, but for some reason, I feel like that look was very important. I feel like I missed something that I should have seen. The harder I try to remember it, the less I can, but when I don’t try the feeling of urgency just gets stronger. Do you understand now?”  
Of course he understood; he was an Angel, not an Idiot.  
“Why didn’t you just ask, Sam?” and with that Castiel reached out.  
________________________________________  
Before Sam could brace himself an Angel palm was on his head and he was once again standing before his brother. He was trapped in his own body, perched inside himself observing everything but unable to act or move; a lot like possession actually.  
Oh great, now he was possessing himself… and just when he thought his life couldn’t get any weirder.  
Shaking off the thought he focused on his brother, listening as he tried to explain how he had had no choice, how he couldn’t let him die, and Sam got it now, he really did. After what Castiel had shown him, Sam finally understood; Dean really hadn’t been able to let him die, it just wasn’t in him. He hadn’t understood then though, and he listened to himself as he told his brother how he used their relationship as an excuse to do whatever he wanted. Although he wanted to scream at himself to shut-up, slap a hand over his own stupid mouth, he couldn’t, he could only sit and listen as he told his brother that everything bad that happened in his life was because they were brothers, and as he listened he watched.  
“Just go. I’m not going to stop you.” And there it was, the look he hadn’t seen that night, and really, how could he have missed it?  
The words came out of Sam’s mouth and just like that his brother was no longer there. Green eyes went flat and all expression fled as every single thing inside of him, every particle of his being, seemed to die. In the blink of an eye, Dean was gone, just gone; the man left standing in front of him was nothing but a meat suit; a hollowed out, empty shell.  
“Okay Sam.” Not sounding like his brother, not at all (Sam, not Sammy… why hadn’t he picked up on that?) and he turned and walked away. Panic shot through him, flooding his stomach as he twisted and raged, struggling wildly to escape the fleshy prison of his past self… “Dean!” desperate, pleading, but silent none the less; “Dean!” oh God, please, please…  
And once again he was in the Bunker, his knees collapsing him to the floor as harsh breathes ripped his lungs, oh God oh God…  
“Sam!” and Castiel was kneeling before him, hand on his shoulder, “Sam, calm down!”  
He shot his hands out, gripped fabric, wrapped his fists tight, and stared into blue eyes, pleading; “You have to find him Castiel! You hear me? You have to, right now!”  
The grip on his shoulder tightened, hauling him to his feet to stand before the confused Angel.  
“Sam, calm down. What is wrong? Why do I have to find Dean right now?”  
Blinking rapidly he fought to catch his breath, to find a way to explain the seriousness of the situation to his friend.  
“Do you remember when Dean was going to say yes to Michael?”  
Castiel nodded slowly.  
“When he made that decision Castiel, he made it because everything got to be too much, the pain and the guilt got to be too much, and he figured sacrificing himself that way would be the only way to end it all on a good note, you know?”  
Castiel just stared and frustration whipped through him.  
“Don’t you get it, Cas? He was tired, tired of always fighting…always loosing…he couldn’t see anything to keep fighting for. He figured Michael was his way out, his chance to atone for some of his past sins…his last chance to set things right and escape a war he no longer believed he could win.”  
“Yes Sam, I understand, but that was years ago. Michael is in the cage with Lucifer and that war is over so what does any of that have to do with finding Dean now?”  
“That look Cas, the look Dean wore when he made the decision to give in?” Castiel nodded his understanding. “It was the same look he got the night I told him to go. No, actually, it was worse this time, because I didn’t see it and it’s been days.” The Angel drew a sharp breath and stood straighter. “Heaven is closed, the Angels have fallen, and it’s been days Castiel, days, and Dean is not here, so what is there left for him to do?”  
Castiel’s eyes widened and Sam knew he finally comprehended. Trying to beat down the panic wanting to overtake him, he gripped Castiel tightly and pleaded,  
“Please Castiel; you have to go get him. Please, go get him right now”  
“Sam…”and something in his voice caused the dread to press harder into his spine, “Sam, I can’t go get him. He’s warded, remember?”  
Sam’s knees went weak as black spots swam the edges of his vision, oh God…  
“I don’t know where he is Sam. I cannot find him”


End file.
